


The Effect You Have on Me

by Peetabreadgirl



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peetabreadgirl/pseuds/Peetabreadgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta Mellark is an engaged man. He shouldn’t be booking time with a call girl, no matter how innocent his intentions are, but her haunting silver eyes won’t let him leave her alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I know this dream. I’ve been here many times before. If I look outside I’ll see rain, coming down in sheets. Puddles grow. Thunder booms. I know if I glance across the alley I’ll see her, huddled under the tree. Cold. Afraid. Starving. But I can’t make myself go to the window. It’s not time yet. I wish I could speed the dream up. I know what happens; the same thing that always happens. Me staring. Mother yelling. Burnt bread. Whack! “Take it to the dumpsters so it doesn’t smell up the place,” she’ll say. My cheek throbs. Shirt soaking. Sunken, silver eyes. Toss. Splash._

 

The alarm startles me awake, an arm reaching across my body to smack the ancient clock’s snooze button. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. Why it’s not raining, and why I don’t smell charred bread.

 

“Will you start using your phone already? That thing is so annoying at four in the morning,” my fiance says as she rolls over and falls back to sleep. Removing the covers, I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Madge again. She’s not a morning person.

 

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and headed out the door to work. Baker’s hours can be brutal, but I’ve been doing it all my life, so I don’t know any different. I think of a girl as I pull into the parking space at the back of Mellark’s bakery, next to the trash cans, which are across from the tree I found her under four years ago.

 

I dream of her often. Not in a fantasy sort of way. I would be a terrible person to think of her like that. It was quite obvious she was falling on the worst of times. When I have this dream, I wonder what would have happened if I had gone to her, spoken to her. I may have learned her name, her situation. I could have offered help. As it is, I have no idea what became of her. I’ve never seen her again, outside of my dreams.

 

As I unlock the back door, I cast a glance to the tree. I do it every morning. I guess I’m hoping she’ll be there again, and I can talk to her. Help her. Now that my mother is gone she can’t do anything to stop me. Mother always thought I was weak, a pathetic excuse for a son. It seemed the more kind and compassionate I tried to be, the more she berated me for it. I gave up ever trying to please her. There’s nothing I can do about it now, anyway. She died of a heart attack two years ago.

 

I met Madge the day after the funeral. I was drowning my insecurities and regrets surrounding my relationship with my mother in alcohol at the Starlight Lounge, and she was my waitress. She asked me what a handsome guy like me was doing getting drunk alone. We talked. She told me she was putting herself through business school at UNLV. I told her I could use someone with a business degree at the bakery, which had just been turned over to me by my father. We exchanged numbers, and here we are two years later, getting married in six months.

 

She’s a beautiful girl. Sweet, funny, kind. A little on the materialistic side, but who isn’t in this town? Vegas isn’t exactly ‘pure’, and materialism is low on the list of qualities to watch out for when you’re dating. I picked a good one, I think. My father says my mother would approve of Madge. Not that it matters. But I do hope on some level that it’s true.

 

The day goes by as normal. Baking muffins and cinnamon rolls for the breakfast rush, cookies and sandwiches for lunch, and loaves of different breads, both sweet and savory, for afternoon. Business in Vegas is good, especially in the early morning when people are hungry after their all-nighters. No other business in town has a five-thirty a.m. rush for our best seller, the cheese bun.

 

Madge shows up to do the books in the afternoon. She manages the Lounge now, and does the bookkeeping for the bakery. I love that it will be a family business - me baking, Madge handling the finances, and our kids running around enjoying the treats I sneak them, spoiling their dinner.

 

“I have to run home and pack for my trip,” Madge says to me, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before she heads for the back door. “And don’t get too crazy at this party tonight.”

 

“You’re the only one for me, Madge,” I assure her, following her out to her car.

 

I agreed to go to a bachelor party with my friend Finnick, for his friend Marvel. He needs a wingman, or so he says. I think it’s just a way for him to spend time with me since I’m always with Madge or at the bakery. Finnick is not the kind of guy who ever needs help with the ladies. At over six feet, with perfectly styled, copper hair, bright green eyes and muscles more defined than the longest entry in a Webster’s dictionary, I have yet to see a girl turn him down. Even Madge flirted with him at first.

 

Madge slides into the driver’s seat and I hold the door open so I can lean down and kiss her properly. I won’t see her for a week. She’s had a trip planned for the last three months with her girlfriends from school to celebrate their graduation.

 

“No lap dances for me, and no cabana boys rubbing lotion on you,” I joke.

 

“Deal,” Madge agrees. She reaches up to give me one last kiss, and I watch her drive away before heading back into the bakery.

 

I spend a few more hours there, prepping dough for tomorrow and cleaning up the mess from today. By the time I get home, Madge is gone and Finnick has reminded me via voice text about fifty times to meet him at the Bellagio at nine. I have a few hours so I take a power nap, sure that I’ll be out later than I want to be tonight. I have an employee, Rue, opening the shop in the morning, but I’m not usually awake past nine-thirty.

 

After I’ve showered and shaved, and listened to yet another voice text from Finnick, I find space in a parking garage not too far from the Bellagio and make my way down the strip. Vegas is spectacular at night, and my eyes are drawn to the ever changing fountain in front of the hotel. The sprays of water dance, illuminated, chasing each other in an endless cycle.

 

I’m a little early, so I stand in front of the fountains, taking it all in. You wouldn’t think that the busiest street in Vegas is peaceful, but if you can block out the noise and get lost in the sights, it really can be. Not the kind of serenity you would find in the mountains, or at the beach-

 

“District Twelve Bar and Lounge,” a voice interrupts my thoughts as a hand shoves a card in my face. I look over my shoulder at the man, confused for a moment. I reach out and take the card, because that’s what you do when someone hands you something.

 

“Excuse me?” I ask, staring into his very familiar-seeming gray eyes.

 

“District Twelve Bar and Lounge. You into girls or guys? We have both-”

 

“Oh, no. No thanks, man,” I say, trying to hand the card back to him. “I’m engaged.” Even as I say it I know it sounds lame in this town. Plenty of married men, women, even couples, hire private entertainment. The guy gives me a crooked grin and tells me to keep the card and walks away.

 

I sit there, card in hand, staring back at the fountains while I subconsciously tear at the edges. Looking down I do a doubletake when I see the face on the card. It’s _her._ I know it. I’ve seen those eyes in my dreams pretty much weekly for the last four years. Her cheeks are less hollow, her skin luminous, although that’s probably from makeup, and her hair isn’t pasted to her scalp and face from buckets of rain, but I can feel it somewhere deep inside me that it’s her. My heart falls as I realize what she’s had to do to make it in this world. I guess it’s better than death, though, but still…

 

I always wanted to know what became of her, and now I do, even though it feels hollow. I never got to talk to her. The name on the card says “MJ”. I wonder if those are her real initials or a stage name. Most call girls don’t use their real names. I suddenly have so many questions I want to ask, a burning need to know things about her.

 

Looking down the strip, I can just make out the guy who handed me the card - tall, dark hair, well built, about fifty yards in the opposite direction of the Bellagio. Maybe he knows. My feet are already carrying me towards him, and after bumping a few shoulders and receiving a slight shove and reprimand from an elderly lady who thought I might be trying to mug her in my haste to catch the guy, soon I’m face to face with him again.

 

“Do you know this girl?” I ask. He narrows his eyes at me.

 

“What if I do?” he returns, his voice suspicious.

 

“I just want to know her name,” I say, adding, “and if she’s okay.” They guy snorts and throws me a critical glance.

 

“Look, buddy, either pay for her time, or buzz off. We don’t give out personal information on our girls.” He hands out another card to a hulking blond man, and I can see the picture on it is also of MJ. The man leers at it and asks how much. Something in his eyes makes me unsettled.

 

“Seventy-five an hour,” he says. The blond gives him a questioning look. “She’s new,” the dark haired man says, as if that explains why the fee is cheaper than expected. The information, though, that she hasn’t been bought before is oddly refreshing, and my heart leaps in my chest.

 

“I’ll give her a go,” the guy says casually, as if MJ is something to be ‘tried out’. My heart went from leaping to constricting. He disgusts me, and I can’t stand the thought of his eyes devouring her body, and his hands, among other things, touching her in an indecent way. The dark haired man picks up a walkie talkie, giving orders to get MJ ready. I’m not sure what comes over me, but I counter his offer. I can’t let this guy taint her.

 

“I’ll pay two hundred,” I blurt out, pulling my wallet from my back pocket before the two men have a chance to finish the transaction. I am astonished at my own outburst, and it must show on my face from the looks they’re giving me.

 

“That’s _per hour_ ,” he says to me in a condescending tone. I know. And I don’t care. The hulk has walked away, leaving us with a sneer and something about only an idiot paying that much for a newbie. Before I can think through my actions, I’m given directions as to where I can find her, and my credit card is swiped on a square attached to a smartphone. He tells me my time will begin in twenty minutes, and starts to disappear into the bustling crowd, giving me a quick backward glance.

 

I head for the address, which is a few blocks off the strip. It takes me all twenty minutes to get there, fighting the crowds and waiting for traffic lights. I find myself standing in front of a room labeled the ‘Capitol Suite’, unsure if I should knock or just open the door. I decide on knocking, and my first attempt at it goes unanswered because my nerves won’t allow my knuckles to connect with the wood hard enough for anyone to hear.

 

Before a second attempt can be made, my phone begins to buzz in my pocket. It’s Finnick. In all the madness I completely forgot I was supposed to meet him.

 

“Finn,” I answer. “Sorry, but I’m gonna be a little late, man.”

 

“But you’re still coming, right? Can’t work a bachelor party without my right hand,” he jests. I’m hardly his ‘right hand’, but now isn’t the time to get into any of that. The girl haunting my dreams these past four years is just a few feet away, and she’s waiting for me.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. Just got a quick errand to run.” I wince as I hear the word ‘errand’ fall out of my mouth. Even though I’m trying to cover what I’m actually doing, my mind tells me I just objectified MJ the same way the blond guy did. I hate myself for that. But really there’s no phrase coming to mind that can properly depict what I’m walking into in a decent way.

 

After disconnecting with Finnick, I try knocking again. The door opens, hesitantly. There is no one in front of me, and I think she must be behind it waiting for me to come in. I step through into the plush room, but pay it no mind as the lock clicks behind me softly, closing me in. My heart is beating erratically, and my palms are damp. I have no clue what I’m going to say to her, or how to explain why I’m even here, since I don’t really know myself. All I know is that I have to see her.

 

And see her, I do. She is facing the door, in a short, black satin robe that hangs just above the curve of her butt cheeks, revealing black, lace garters on her upper thighs. I can’t help but follow the dark line of her stockings down the backs of her slender, defined legs, to the glossy black heels that cover her small feet.

 

The sight undoes me a little. I’m an engaged guy, but still a guy nonetheless. And a barely dressed woman before me, who thinks I am here for sex, doesn’t go without some reaction from me. I can feel an erection in the making so I try to think of something, _anything_ , that can keep it at bay. Mother helps do the trick.

 

“MJ?” Her name sounds clumsy in the stillness of the room. She turns her head in my direction, but her eyes do not meet mine, and she has not let go of the door knob. I watch her hand hesitate before releasing it. When she does I can see a sort of resolve in the rigidness of her body. She faces me fully, and before I can tell her not to undress, she unties her robe, allowing it to fall to the floor. Oh, _God_. She is stunning. The words in my head stumble over each other in an effort to make sense; _I’m not here for this_. I just want to talk to her, but I can’t pry my eyes off of her now.

 

It takes all I can muster to snap out of my lust-filled trance, but I do it. I remind myself of Madge, and what she would think if she knew I were here. I’ll have to tell her somehow. I can’t keep secrets from my future wife. Then again, I was supposed to be at a bachelor party where there were sure to be naked breasts and girls grinding themselves on me. This is better isn’t it? I’m just talking to a girl I know is living a hard life. Sure, she happens to be indecently clothed for a chat, but maybe if I can help her like I should have four years ago, it’ll be a wash. Madge will understand.

 

In the time it takes me to convince myself that all will be okay, MJ has moved directly in front of me, her hands on my chest, roaming softly to unbutton Madge’s favorite navy plaid shirt, rendering me completely incoherent. She is all I can focus on, and even though I can barely feel it, her touch is like a wildfire, spreading throughout my body with abandon.

 

The top button of my shirt pops open at her fingertips and I’m both terrified and grateful. My neck suddenly needs ventilation, but if she doesn’t stop touching me I’m going to embarrass myself. I’m feeling clammy and uncertain, and the room may or may not be spinning. My mind is whirling, telling me to stop, but my body is responding to her slight attentions stronger than I’ve ever felt it, and I have to flex my palms in and out of fists to keep them from caressing her smooth, glowing skin. It’s near impossible.

 

My pocket vibrates and brings me back. _Thank God_. Noble as it seemed in the beginning, this may not have been the best idea I’ve ever had. I step away from her, a part of me reluctantly leaving her hands to grapple with air instead of my third button, and grateful to have something else to distract me while I get it together. It’s just a text from Finnick, telling me which room the party is in, and to hurry my ass up. I shoot him a quick ‘alright’ and stare at the dark screen of my phone, trying to map out a conversation with MJ. My mind is still a bit muddled, and I just decide to wing it. Pushing my top two buttons back through their holes, I turn around and walk over to the place where she dropped her robe. I pick it up, stare straight into her eyes, and offer it back to her.

 

“Would you like to sit?” My question takes her by surprise, but it doesn’t look like she’s pleased with it, or relieved in any way. In fact, she seems angry.

 

After what seems like an hour long staring contest, MJ moves across the room as she grabs the robe from me, adjusting the belt tight around her. I can’t ignore the way she walks. Even though she seems a bit wobbly in the heels, her legs look amazing. My eyes follow her as she sits quietly, her steel-colored eyes glaring at me.

 

“I’m actually just here to talk,” I tell her. There is a palpable silence in the room as I watch her consider my words. Her arms come around her waist, as if she’s trying to protect herself, and she seems very uncertain.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m not good with talking. This is my first night, and I’m not sure how to get a guy off just with words. Or it that’s even possible, but maybe if you start, I can... follow,” she says quietly, with a nervous glance toward the floor.

 

“No. No, I think you’re misunderstanding me,” I say, and pause to gather my thoughts. “I want to actually talk to you. Nothing sexual. Just conversation.”

 

Her lips part and her eyes narrow, and I don’t have a clue what she’s thinking. I cannot read this girl. She flusters me, excites me, makes me walk on eggshells. There seems to be no shortage of reactions I’ve experienced by her in these first ten minutes.

 

“Am I not attractive enough for your tastes?” she says to me, the razor sharp edge of her tone enough to cut me. I’m not sure anything could be less true, and I obviously need to explain myself further. She must have no idea the effect she can have on people - on me especially. I’ve just thrown out a minimum of two hundred dollars, and risked my fiance’s trust just to have a conversation with her. If she only knew the power she had.

 

“You probably don’t remember me,” I start, trying to deflect the fact that I think she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. “You came to my bakery four years ago. You were huddled under a tree and it looked like you were starving, so I threw you some bread.” I stop talking because I can see her eyes widen, and I know she remembers.

 

“That was you!” she gasps, and her hands cover her mouth, then she points in my direction. “I knew you looked familiar. I was staring at you through the peephole trying to figure out how I knew you.”

 

A relieved smile makes its way to my lips and I breathe a sigh of relief.

 

“Why are you here? How did you find me?” A quick look of terror crosses her features as she asks, “Are you stalking me?” She stands and back away from the chair a little, and I immediately want to assuage her fear.

 

“No,” I respond as a nervous laugh escapes my lips. “I’m not a stalker. I just-” I don’t know how to explain it to her in a non-creepy way, but I’ve got to try. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I’ve thought about you. For four years.” Her eyes are silver pools of astonishment, then suspicion, and I feel like I’m about to lose any trust she may have in me so I plow forward without letting her speak.

 

“I wanted to do more.” The confusion on her face does nothing to take away the beauty I see in her. I think she could wear any emotion and be stunning.

 

“You did plenty. It fed me and my sister, kept us from starving, and gave me hope that good people do exist and..., and maybe we would be alright.” Her tone is still cautious, but there is no mistaking the sincerity I hear in it, and the apparent love she has for a sibling. It’s the first piece of information I’ve received from her, and it makes me curious for more.

 

“You have a sister?” I see quickly, though, it’s the wrong question to ask. Her eyes become slivers so small I can’t make out the color of her irises, which I had noticed the first time she looked at me were the color of raw metal, and rich with fiery passion.

“I think you need to go,” she says, allowing some of that passion to escape, and flings her arm commandingly toward the door. I put my hands out, hoping to somehow stop her indignance towards me, but she seems determined to follow through with throwing me out as she stomps across the plush carpet, unlocking the door and yanking it open.

 

I know I’ve hit a nerve when she steps back as I approach the exit, wrapping her arms around herself defensively. She won’t look at me and I’m pretty sure there’s no way I can salvage this night to be anything but a lost cause. It grieves me that I’ve screwed it all up, but I have no idea how to fix it. Comforting words, which normally flow out of me like a river, causing people to be putty in my hands, won’t come. Maybe we’re better off as strangers. Maybe I can finally put to rest the dreams of her that torment me.

 

As I step into the hall, I turn to apologize and say goodbye to MJ, hopefully able to find some sense of peace that she is okay, but all I see is the white of the door, all I hear is the click of the lock. I feel acutely the separation between us, and I can’t identify why, but it pains me. I can’t get a grasp on how I managed it, but I know I failed in my second chance to do something for her.

 

The rest of the night is an agonizing blur as I attend the bachelor party. I try to be there for Finnick, but I know my attitude lacks the charismatic spark I’m known for. He seems to be taken by the stripper, a tall, lithe, pretty girl that holds an innocence in her eyes that makes me wonder if she’s here by choice or out of desperation, my mind flitting back to MJ with the same thought, though I’m sure it’s true in her case.

 

“What’s up with you tonight?” Finnick’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn my attention to him, hoping a conversation will take my mind off the night’s earlier event.

 

“You finally dragged yourself away from the stripper, eh? You know, she’s here for the bachelor, right? You’ve taken pretty much all her time,” I force a small laugh and absently rub my chin. “Marvel probably won’t invite you to anymore parties or guys nights out.”

 

“He’s getting married. I’m sure Glimmer will strip for him whenever he wants. Besides, she’s different than most performers.” My head snaps in his direction. Finnick has never used the word ‘performer’ for a singer, much less a stripper. He laughs and I see his eyes flash in the girl’s direction.

 

“Her name is Annie, and she does this part time for some extra cash to feed her younger brothers. She normally works as a mermaid in the aquarium at the Silverton,” he says, his tone wistful. I’ve never seen Finnick like this.

 

“So, you’ll be frequenting the Silverton Hotel now?” Finnick’s cheeks blush, yet another sight I’ve never seen, and I think I like this side of him.

 

“It’s possible,” he says, and I get the feeling he’s trying to salvage a sliver of himself.

 

“But enough about me. What’s going on with you tonight? Madge leaving really got you down?” No, that’s definitely not it, although a guilty part of me feels like it should be.

 

“She’ll be back in a week, man. It’ll be alright.” Finnick claps me on the shoulder and shakes me gently. I know he cares, but it’s not Madge that’s got me acting strange. In fact, what’s strange is that I haven’t thought of her since I left MJ.

 

  
  
  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

I wake at my usual time, despite canceling my alarm and having stayed out much later than normal. The sleep came easily enough, but my thoughts were on MJ before drifting off, so it’s no surprise to me that I dreamed of her again.

 

The surprising part was the dream took a different turn. Instead of reluctantly grabbing the loaves and scampering off like I remember her doing, MJ threw them back at me with a scowl. An oddly bewitching scowl. Then I watched, mortified, as she willingly left the alley on the arm of the same blond guy that had tried to buy time with her the night before. He had a sneering grin on his face and a malicious look in his eyes that my stomach is still knotted up over.

 

I throw my arm over my eyes in an attempt to block out the dream, but it’s no use. The events of last night, and how they could have gone so differently, continue to play out in my head like one of those black and white movie reels from decades ago. Getting up and going to work, even though Rue is opening the shop for me, is probably the only thing that will steer my mind in a different direction.

 

I can’t ignore, though, that I feel worse after finally meeting her than I normally would just having the dreams about her. I found out she’s alive, how she’s getting on, although it still makes me cringe. I don’t want to think of her that way. But I also heard the sound of her voice, saw a spark of her passion, felt the determination she possesses to live. And there’s no doubt I got an eyeful of her perfect body, yet it’s strange that those aren’t the images that are taunting me.

 

Her eyes, though. Remembering them I can see a storm cloud approaching, thundering through the sky. One that has the power to flood and devastate a landscape in its rage, or drizzle the sweetest taste of life into it.

 

This last thought is the one I choose to dwell on as I shower, make my bed and head off to the bakery to try and distract myself. There is really nothing I can do for her, so I might as well think the best of the situation, instead of dwelling on what I can’t change.

 

“Peeta!” Rue gasps as I walk through the back door unannounced, her hand flying to cover the place where her heart beats. “You scared me. I wasn’t expecting you.” Her big, brown eyes look me up and down, landing on my face. “You look like you haven’t slept at all. What are you doing here? I thought you were taking the morning off?”

 

“Just need something to do. It’s kind of lonely at home.” I notice the slight disapproval in her countenance, and I know she thinks I work too much. “What? You don’t want my company?” I joke lightly. It falls flat because of my somber mood, and Rue must pick up on it.

 

“Wow. You must love Madge more than I thought,” she says to me with a small amount of surprise in her voice.

 

It catches me off guard, the ‘more than I thought’ part of her observation. So I ask her, “What do you mean by that?” Rue’s big eyes grow even larger at my question, and she looks down at the log of dough she’s cutting into two inch-thick cinnamon rolls.

 

“I didn’t mean that,” she tells me, but I can hear in her voice she’s trying to cover up something. I’ve been working with Rue for over a year now, and she’s never been disingenuous with me, so I can spot it right away.

 

“Say it, Rue. It’s okay. I promise I won’t be upset.” She glances up at me through the longest, darkest eyelashes, and quirks her lip to the side in a half-smile. The look instantly melts my heart like butter. She could probably ask for a huge raise right now and I’d give it to her, she’s _that_ endearing.

 

“Well, it’s just that you two have always seemed like such great friends that genuinely love each other, but-” She stops, taking the tray of rolls to the oven. I wait for her, since the oven door creaks loudly when it’s used, and I wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway.

 

“It’s just that, well, you don’t seem ‘in love’ to me.” Rue’s innocent observation slaps me right across the cheek, like my mother’s rolling pin when I tossed MJ the bread. _What?_ How do I not seem ‘in love’ with my fiance? I said I wouldn’t get upset, so I’m going to have to play it cool on the outside, because on the inside I’m quickly becoming offended. And hurt. Rue’s always been such a good employee and friend to Madge and me, and this feels like a bit of betrayal.

 

“Can you elaborate?” I ask, purposely slowing my words so they don’t come out in an angry rush. I can’t, however, keep myself from enunciating the ‘t’ at the end.

 

“Well, unless you’ve seen true love in action, you really don’t notice it in anyone else.” Can she be any more cryptic? Who hasn’t seen true love in action? I’ve seen movies where guys go to great lengths to show the leading lady how much they’re wanted. I have a few married friends that I’m sure will be together forever. I also have a few divorced ones, as well, but that’s just because we live in Vegas and the temptation and ease with which one can cheat is just too much for some to handle.

 

“Can you elaborate _more_?” My patience is being tested, and with someone it should never take issue with. Something is wrong with me. I have never felt this anxious and irritable with Rue. She’s so sweet and delicate, like a little chocolate bird that flutters gracefully from tree to tree.

 

“I’ve seen my parents in love my whole life,” she says, and her face takes on a dreamy look. “They modeled what I want for myself.” I try boring my eyes into hers to help her speed up the story, but she continues at her wistful pace, mixing up the icing for the rolls, the spoon methodically clicks against the bowl, breaking up the silence.

 

“They smile at each other bashfully, like they know secrets about the other one that no one else does. And they constantly touch in public. Innocent touches to the unsuspecting eye, but they communicate an intimate message to each other, you know?” No. Apparently I don’t. “I know because I hear them at night sometimes,” Rue laughs for a second, then coughs and looks away. I am definitely uncomfortable talking to innocent Rue about her what her parents do in their bedroom.

 

“Sorry,” she says. “TMI. Anyway, with you and Madge - and don’t take this the wrong way!” she exclaims, pointing the spatula at me and flinging bits of icing onto the counter. “I mean this purely as a friend to both of you.” I nod, but I’ve been speechless so far. “You guys seem like great friends with benefits, but I don’t see the spark of passionate, I’ll-climb-the-highest-mountain, bring-you-the-moon kind of love there.”

 

Huh. I guess I’ve never thought of it that way. I’m don’t agree with her, although I know for sure my parents didn’t model to me what hers did to her. With mine, there was always a chill in the room when they were both present, and I can’t remember ever hearing them say they loved each other. I just assumed they did because they were married, and stayed together all their lives. I also assumed because Madge and I are so warm and affectionate with each other, that it was better than what my parents had. I never heard them through the walls, but Madge and me, we’re different. Aren’t we? The sex is good. I’m not complaining. It’s been a little lacking as of late, but that’s just because we’re tired and busy. I mean, who isn’t? I actually haven’t thought about sex in the last two weeks until… well, until last ni-

 

“Earth to Peeta,” Rue says, snapping her fingers in my face. I blink, pulling myself back from the rabbit trail I was on, and focusing on her for a moment. “What are you thinking about?”

 

What was I thinking about? Well, it started out with my parents, briefly switched to Madge, and somehow ended with MJ. “Just considering what you said, I guess. I think we’re in love, though, I mean, you can’t see _everything_ we do.” I know she means well, but I’m not quite ready to take advice from an employee who’s almost a decade younger than me. And there’s no way an outsider can tell me I don’t love the girl I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with. I’m sorry, but that’s only for me to decide. And I decide I love Madge, and I tell Rue so.

 

“I’m _in love_ with Madge.” But even as the words leave my mouth, they don’t feel right. I _love_ Madge. I test the phrase in my brain, and that feels right. After all, love is caring for others, putting them above yourself, considering their feelings, thinking the best of them, sharing pieces of your life. I definitely love her. I may not be _in love_ enough for someone else, or even like Rue says her parents are, but I can get there. We’re there, anyway. It just takes that extra, intimate touch. The laughing. The secret looks. Like Rue talked about. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.

 

After our little chat, the rest of the day goes by quickly as I scurry about the bakery’s kitchen, mixing doughs and shaping cookies, while Rue covers the counter and keeps the floors swept. I have a renewed vigor, an excitement about my future with Madge that I haven’t felt before, and it helps keep my concentration on things I _can_ do, instead of things I have no control over. Like MJ.

 

“You good to lock up?” I ask Rue, tossing my apron into the linen basket.

 

“Sure thing, boss,” she says, and gives me a silly salute of obedience, then turns more serious. “Can I say something before you go?”

 

“Anything,” I assure her. Nothing she says now can be worse than telling me I’m not in love with my fiance.

 

“You can’t make yourself fall in love, Peeta.” She’s cute when she’s concerned, and I know I need to hear her out so I don’t hurt her feelings, so I let her speak. “You just… _are_. And it will feel like nothing you can explain to anyone. They have to feel it for themselves to know.”

 

“Have you felt this feeling?” I ask, challenging her a bit. There is no way a sixteen year old has been in love yet.

 

“No, but I asked my mother. That’s what she told me. I’ll know when it happens,” she says confidently. I nod my head, and leave it alone. I don’t want to get into that conversation again.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I’m standing in front of my washing machine, sorting all my blues and grays, a color that takes my mind from the fact that Madge forgot to drop my clothes at the cleaners this week, and directs it straight to the eyes that haunt me - MJ’s. I don’t know what to do about her. Or if there’s even anything I _can_ do.

 

At the mere thought of her I’m frustrated again, and I find myself abusing my clothing by slam dunking the pieces into the machine. I search through the pockets of my jeans before tossing them in, too, and dump the contents onto a table nearby. MJ’s card is crumpled at the edges, peeking out of some dollar bills and loose change. My heart skips a beat at the sight of it, and the jeans are discarded absently onto the floor, never making it into the wash.

 

Somehow, the card is in my hands again. It has a pull, some irresistible draw that I can’t explain. Checking my watch I see the time is 4:30. I contemplate booking her again, and tell myself over and over it’s a terrible idea. Even though I know I won’t listen to myself, I try anyway for the next half hour.

 

I can possibly explain one charge on my card to the District Twelve Lounge, but two? I really hope Madge is the forgiving type. I’ve never done anything worse than leaving the toothpaste on the counter and occasionally picking Chinese when Madge is in the mood for Italian, so I have nothing to go on, but something tells me women don’t look highly on this type of purchase.

 

I threw caution to the wind last night, so maybe that’s why it’s so easy for me to dial the number on the card and risk it all a second time. That and the fact I live in a gambling town. Sometimes it seeps into your pores without you knowing.

 

It’s probably too much to hope that MJ will answer, but I allow it anyway. Disappointment comes in the form of a not-so-cheery, male voice.

 

“Yeah?” he says.

 

“Uh, yeah I have a card for MJ. I’m wondering if she’s available tonight?” I ask as cool as I can. The phone is shaking slightly next to my ear and I hope my voice isn’t in sync with it. The five seconds it takes for him to answer feels like aeons.

 

“She’s available,” he tells me. “What time?” I’ve never done this before, except for last night. Is it really this easy? There’s no background check, no information needed it seems. What if I were an axe murderer? Don’t they care about these girls?

 

“Name,” he demands. I tell him, and he says I’m ‘in the system’. Great. It sounds like I’m a criminal. He charges my card again, which is also on file, and hangs up after he gives me the time and place. I booked another two hours at the discounted price from last night, and I think I must be the only man in history to have spent hundreds of dollars on a prostitute, and ended up having no type of sex at all.

 

I take the next hour to finish the load of laundry, shower and shave, and pick out the right clothes. I’ve never had a problem getting dressed before, but I’m not quite sure what says ‘I’m not here to have sex’ while meeting a person who _is_ there to have sex, other than stained sweat pants and a flour-dusted, oversized t-shirt. That seems to work for Madge.

 

I opt for another of Madge’s favorite shirts, this time a red and navy striped one that she bought me a few weeks ago. There’s no real reason for me to pick it, other than It’s one of the only ironed shirts in my closet. It’ll have to do.

 

The thought of showing up with flowers flits briefly through my mind, but right away I know that would be a terrible idea. She doesn’t seem like a ‘floral’ kind of girl. I need some way to apologize, though. Some gift to offer to calm what I’m sure will be a door slamming in my face at the sight of me for a second consecutive night. After a few minutes of thought, I get an idea that I’m happy with and begin to make my way back to the Capitol Suite.

 

Even more nervous than yesterday, I rub my hands on my khakis and flap my shirt collar a few times to get some air to my neck and chest. Unbuttoning the top button of my shirt is the next step, since it seems too constricting around my continually bobbing throat. I have no clue why I keep swallowing since my mouth is dryer than the Mojave Desert.

 

I take a moment to clear my throat, then knock on the door. Silence. Stillness. Nothing happens. I check my receipt through the email D12 sent me, then my watch, noting i’m here two minutes late. She should be in there.

 

I knock again. Still nothing. I keep knocking, my knuckles turning red and sore, until I hear a loud sigh and the words “go away”. I remember MJ saying she stared at me through the peephole last night, and she must have done it again, recognizing me. Wonderful. Make that the only man in history to pay for time with a girl and not even make it into the room with her.

 

“Let me in, please,” I plead with her through the door. “MJ?”

 

“Go away, Peeta.” She sounds serious, but the fact that she knows my name makes me more determined to get her to open the door. I’m certain we didn’t exchange that information last night.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just here to talk.” The door swings open and MJ is there, hand on hip, braid slung over her shoulder, a genuinely bothered look on her pretty face. I can’t believe I forgot how beautiful she is. It was just last night I saw her.

 

“You can’t just keep coming here to talk, Peeta.” God, my name sounds amazing on her lips.

 

“Why can’t I come here just to talk?”

 

“Because, it’s not what you paid for. And now I owe you sex. Twice. So come in and take your pants off or go home.”

 

I can’t say I’m not completely shocked by her demands. I want to go in the room, but not for sex. Two rounds, no less. _Nope, definitely not here for that_ , I tell myself. Five times in a row. Deep breaths.

 

The fact that her satin robe is my favorite color, the pale orange of a sunset, bordered by seductive black lace, and her chemise is practically sheer with tiny underthings barely covering her private areas, makes calming myself more difficult. I need to sit down for a minute, so I walk into the room and past MJ, taking a seat on the chaise lounge at the end of the bed. I can feel her staring at me.

 

“Your pants are still on,” she says, unamused.

 

“They’re not coming off. I’m here because…” Can I really tell her why I’m here a second night in a row when I don’t know myself? “Look, like I told you last night, or at least started to before you kicked me out, I regret not doing more for you back then. I know you said I did plenty, but I can’t help feeling like I could have spared you from... well, from this,” I say, spreading my hands out in front of me.

 

“What makes you think I don’t want to be here?” she demands. I can see we’re picking up where we left off last night, and I know I need to get control or she’ll boot me again, so I pick up the room service menu on the nightstand and hand it to her.

 

“Order something,” I say. I give her my best puppy dog eyes, the ones that used to get me extra cookies from my dad when my mother wasn’t looking. MJ frowns and folds her arms over her chest, making it obvious that she’s a completely different breed than my dad.

 

“I’m not sure why you’re here, but it’s not for dinner. So, take your clothes-”

 

“I am not here for that!” I raise my voice at her, hoping to finally make my point. I didn’t mean to, but I’m tired of saying the same thing over and over and gaining no ground with her. She’s so _stubborn_. And shocked-looking. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve seen her face, and now I feel bad for shouting at her.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, it’s just that I can’t get you to realize I’m not here for sex. I’m here because I want to be your friend, and I have no idea how to do that other than to buy your time to talk to you.” That is as honest as I can be, and I’m expecting her to lash out at me again, but she doesn’t. Instead she takes a seat on the chaise, where I was minutes ago.

 

The silence is thick and suffocating, but looking at her is like fresh air, so I keep my gaze leveled on her while I pick up the phone and order the most basic of room service entrees - cheeseburgers.

 

“Why are you doing this?” she asks me after I’ve hung up the phone. I pull a chair from the small desk opposite the room closer to her and take a seat.

 

“Because I care about you.”

 

“How - how can you care about me? You don’t even know me,” she says, her voice every bit as unsatisfied as my heart when I look at her. She’s full of questions I don’t know how to answer. I just acted impulsively and found myself here, without a clue as to how I’m supposed to make this work.

 

“I can’t tell you why. I just saw your picture and I knew I had to do something.”

 

“What exactly are you going to do?” she asks me, her boldness making a slight comeback.

 

“I’m not sure. I guess whatever you’ll allow.”

 

“You’re supposed to be the one in charge here and you’re asking me what I’ll allow? I must be the only hooker in history to leave their second night of work a virgin,” she admits, a sardonic laugh escaping her pink lips.

 

“What?” I ask, the word coming out harshly.

 

“What?” she counters, clearly not understanding what she just confessed to me.

 

“You said you were leaving your second night of prostitution as a virgin.” Even saying it a second time is unbelievable to me. There’s no way.

 

“Is that so hard to believe?” Her defenses are back up, so I raise my hands in surrender.

 

‘H-how... is that even possible?” She’s gorgeous, and clearly she could have guys eating out of her hand.

 

“Maybe I’ve had more things to worry about than banging the guy next door. What’s it to you, anyway?”

 

“I’m just surprised is all. You’re a very attractive girl.” That’s a gross understatement, but the eggshells are scattered on the floor and stepping on one could be disastrous. “Anyway, don’t you want your first time to be with someone who cares about you?”

 

“Nobody cares about me. I have no one, except my sister, and she’s the reason I’m doing any of this. In a perfect world, maybe I would care, but my world is so far from perfect that it’s not a luxury for me to worry about who the guy is that gets to say he was my first. Besides, I’m only nineteen. It’s not that far fetched that I’m a virgin.”

 

I don’t know which part of her confession seems more unreal to me - the fact that she’s so blase about giving her first time away to a potential douche, or that she thinks there’s no one that cares about her. I know right away there’s at least one person.

 

“I care about you,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes, then considers my statement before responding.

 

“You’re so strange,” she says. I laugh, which makes her smile, and God help me, I’ve never seen such artistry in a person’s features. It’s as if the Creator himself spent hours perfecting this one girl, while the rest of us were cast from the same boring mold.

 

A knock on the door tells me our food is here. I rise from my seat and pull the large terry cloth robe from the closet, handing it to MJ. “Here. If it makes you feel more comfortable.” I hope this doesn’t insult her, and I’m relieved when she says thank you and wraps the large robe around her small frame, covering every part of her from shoulders to toes.

 

I tip the delivery boy and roll our food cart into the room. The fancy, silver dome is lifted off to reveal two of the juiciest, cheesiest burgers I’ve ever seen. The patties are perfectly charred on the outside, while the juices run down into the bottom bun. The waffle fries are a pile of golden deliciousness, hot to the touch and not too greasy, and the chocolate milkshakes are in enormous glass tumblers, sprinkled with dark chocolate, curly-q shavings, and topped with perfectly coiffed whipped cream and a bright red cherry.

 

“Dinner is served,” I say. MJ’s eyes are huge and I hear her stomach rumble as she hesitantly reaches for a plate. She plows through her fries first, eating fast enough to cause me to wonder when her last meal was. Surely she’s eaten today. I don’t know how to ask, so I don’t. I just continue to watch her as she moves to the cheeseburger, and I smile when I see a dribble of juice run down her chin. Things seem to be going in the right direction and I want to keep it that way.

 

We talk a little between bites. I find out that her father died when she was eleven, although she didn’t say how, and her mother went into a depression so severe she couldn’t take care of her own children. MJ’s sister was only six years old at the time, and she had to become a mother as a preteen.

 

My heart breaks at some of her revelations, although I’m sure she’s holding back plenty, and now I’m desperate to go back in time and really do more, mother be damned. I should have brought her into the bakery, sat her at a table and offered her any and every treat she wanted from its glass cases. A whole new wave of guilt washes over me with every detail. I have to change the subject somehow or my heart will literally burst from the pain she’s endured.

 

“So, what does MJ stand for? Is it code for Mary Jane? You know, from Spiderman?” She smiles at me again, then wraps her fleshy lips around the straw in her milkshake. I look away quickly, so as not to become aroused by the sight. She’s becoming a friend, and friends don’t think of each other that way. _Especially_ the engaged ones.

 

“Actually, it stands for Mockingjay. It was the name of a singing group my dad was in a long time ago, The Mockingjays. He was the soprano of the group. They got their name because my mother would say that they sang so beautifully even the birds would stop to listen to them.”

 

“Oh,” I answer, nervous about asking for her real name. Now that I’m sure it’s not MJ, I want to know it, but I don’t want to scare her off like last night when I mentioned her sister.

 

I tell a few jokes to make the silence less awkward, but the only safe ones I know are the jokes my dad told me repeatedly while I was growing up, and they’re lame at best, but I got a few smiles out of her. Mostly cringes.

 

It’s time for me to leave, so I pack the plates back up onto the cart, gathering the dirty cups and napkins that fell to the floor. I know housekeeping will do it, but I’m stalling for time. I don’t want to go yet.

 

“Well, thank you for spending the evening with me. I’m glad I let you this time,” MJ says. There’s a spark in her eyes, but her expression stays neutral.

 

“Thank you for not kicking me out,” I reply. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you-”

 

“I’m fine. Really. I’m grateful for your concern, but I can take care of my sister and me.” There is no irritation in her tone, just sincerity, and I feel disappointed that she doesn’t need me.

 

“Bye, MJ,” is all I have left to say for tonight. Before she closes the door, she calls to me, “Katniss.” I turn and look at her, confused. “My name. It’s Katniss,” she says, and it jogs my memory that she knew my name.

 

“By the way, how did you know my name?”

 

She gives me a look that I interpret as ‘I guess you’ll never know’, and closes the door gently. It doesn’t bother me, though, because she knew it, and she told me hers. _Katniss._

  
I say it all the way home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can stop calling her MJ now! Woohoo! I was telling notanislander that it’s hard to write Peeta realizing his feelings because I’m so used to him knowing that he loves Katniss no matter what. But he’s got some obligations to tend to here. Eek! I wonder what he will do? Everlark is my endgame. If not, I would beg you to stab me in my sleep and just stop the story before I went any further. Come find me on tumblr! Same url there. I’ve been at 299 followers for like a week now, and I just need 1, ONE, to put me in the next hundred. I stare at it for way too long willing it to change. Lol. I obviously need help. 
> 
> Hope you are liking the story! I’m not as happy with this chapter as I was the first, but I’ll take your words for it. Lmk what you think! Pbg


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

My mood is light, hopeful even, and I practically float into the bakery at 4 a.m. I'm a morning person anyway, but this feels different. Fresh. Like the muffins and breakfast breads I’m about to bake for the early crowd. Visiting with Katniss last night had been more than I'd dared to hope for. She hadn't opened up so wide that I knew much more than scant details about her life, but she also had trusted me enough to let her guard down a few inches. I feel my lips forming a grin, but an image of Madge’s smiling face floats to the forefront, causing ripples of guilt to slowly carry my thoughts of Katniss away for the moment.

 

I begin practicing the speech I’m going to have to give to my fiance, deciding that honesty is the best policy. The butterflies in my stomach haven’t appeared yet, but I know they will as Madge’s return comes closer. Right now I’m confident she will see my side. I just need to help her view Katniss as my do-over from years ago. My second chance to help someone in a crisis. I don’t know much about Katniss, but just the thought of her hearing those words sends a shiver down my spine. And not the good kind. From what I’ve experienced so far, they would make her feel like a charity case, and I’m almost certain she would be livid.

 

The morning seems to fly by as I go over and over in my mind how and what I’m going to say to make the most effect on Madge. By the time help comes in at ten, the dialogue has changed forms many times, from me calmly mentioning seeing a hooker, to Madge screaming and slapping me in the face, to me becoming defensive, and then back to my personal favorite - nods, smiles and hugs that she understands and would have done the same to help someone. I hand the register off to Rue while I begin prep for tomorrow morning.

 

At noon, I leave the store in Rue’s capable hands, exhausted from all the thinking and rearranging of my story, trying not to skim the line between what’s real and what’s not. It is of utmost importance that Madge knows everything so that we can continue trusting one another as we take the next step.

 

I climb in my car and head toward Finnick’s favorite sushi bar near the strip to meet him for lunch. I detour a few blocks, taking a route by the District Twelve Lounge. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I stare at the building and slow my speed as I drive by. Night is when things really pick up around here, so it’s no surprise that it looks empty. Hollow. I’d heard once that’s how prostitutes feel the first few times after selling their bodies to men who just want a quick release before tugging their pants back on and sashaying out the door, back to work and wives. Love, tenderness and mutual satisfaction have no place in a business transaction.

 

I take one last glance over my shoulder before the building is eclipsed by the others around it, catching a glimpse of a tall man in a suit squeezing through and closing the door quickly behind him. I wonder who he’s there for, and the thought that he could be there for Katniss drops like a rock in the pit of my stomach. I try to calm down by telling myself that there are probably dozens of girls working there, and he could be there for any one of them. But it’s no use. Dread that Katniss may be giving up her virginity to some _user_ boils my blood.

 

She’s so pure, and yet so experienced. Life has obviously handed her some wicked cards that makes playing the game almost impossible, but the innocence she was able to hold onto fills me with sense of pride for her. That’s no easy feat in this marketplace.

 

I have force myself to pay attention to where I’m going, my foot not quite cooperating as I try to press the gas pedal down and speed back up. In spite of my happiness this morning regarding the situation, reality is setting in. My offers of help were rebuffed, Katniss doesn’t know how to contact me, and there’s no way I can explain a third night with her, let alone one or two. My commitment to Madge is already going to be in question. I can’t fan the flames anymore than I already have.

 

Finnick is nestled in a booth by the far window and spots me immediately, waving at me until I nod my recognition. “You look like hell, Peet,” he says, concern etched across his brow as I take a seat across from him. I feel it every bit of it, too. The spring in my step is gone.  and I’m weighed down with a responsibility that I have no idea how to fulfill. It’s as if certain failure is my punishment for not stepping up the first time my path crossed with Katniss's four years ago. Until two days ago, I could only wonder what happened to the girl with the haunting silver eyes. Now I know. And I will forever have to watch her destruction in my mind's eye. My body practically hums with nervous energy and I bounce my knee under the table to help let some of it out.

 

“Thanks, _friend_ ,” I reply, opening my menu and focusing on food I certainly do not have the stomach to consume right now.

 

“Wow,” he says, giving me a skeptical look.

 

“What?”

 

“I just didn’t think you would be so broken up over Madge being gone for a week. When’s she coming back? I can’t stand to see my buddy like this for one more day.” He chuckles, adding, “Looks like it feels bad to be in love.”

 

Guilt takes over and all I can do is nod my head, so dumbstruck with the idea that he thinks I’m acting out in love. I would call it concern, but it’s not over Madge like he assumes it is. I don’t need to compare Finnick and Annie’s newfound love to what I have with Madge, but curiosity wins out.

 

“So how are things with you and Annie?” I ask, feeling like my reason for the question is written across my forehead and I’ll be found out any minute.

 

Finnick surprises me by breathing a romantic sigh, then proceeds to talk about all the wonderful ways in which Annie is the light of his life. “Man, when we’re together it’s like the Fourth of July - explosive. You know?” He tosses the question at me as though I understand. I’m trying to, and I probably should by this point in my relationship with Madge, but I nod my head hoping that satisfies him. It must because he keeps talking.

 

“I just want to be with her every minute. There is no one I would rather spend my time with than her - no offense.”

 

“None taken,” I reply quickly as the waiter delivers two ice cold waters to our table and writes down our order. I can’t focus on the descriptions of the sushi and rolls, my mind is so preoccupied with what’s going on inside me, so I motion to my friend and say ‘I’ll have what he’s having’, hoping to God the Texas Caterpillar is not raw. Sushi isn’t really my style, but Finnick loves it so I humor him once in awhile.

 

“I think I would go mad if Annie went to Cancun for a week. I feel you, man.”

 

My mind is reeling from the fact that all of Finnick’s confirmation of what he feels for Annie is what I might be feeling for Katniss. I know I’m definitely not feeling it for Madge, and shame washes anew that she’s probably missing me more than I’m missing her. Although… as I think over the events of the last three days since she’s been gone, I realize I haven’t had any communication from her. I haven’t bothered to initiate any either, but it seems strange to me how we’ve been able to take such an easy break from each other. I watch Finnick as he checks his phone, a goofy grin sprouting across his face as he types frantically.

 

“Annie?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

 

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding like a giddy teenager. If Madge texted me right now I’m not sure I’d be half as elated as he is. I wonder what my reaction would be if Katniss texted me? I bet I’d have trouble stifling a grin. And I’d surely excuse myself early from this lunch to meet her if she asked. But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with her. _Damn._ I have no idea what is going on in my head right now.

 

I need to get a grip on myself. I need to relax. I feel as though my emotions have been so pent up, like an energetic animal in a tiny cage, and they’re about to burst.

 

“Vodka sour,” I say to the waitress as she sets our elegantly displayed plates in front of us. The rolls are placed in a zigzag form, as if to evoke images of the insect it is named for ready to crawl across the plate and escape. Tiny multi colored fish eggs decorate the top, and I wonder who really craves this stuff.

 

“Really, Peet? Are you that on edge?” Yes. I am. What’s the good of living in a town like Vegas if you can’t take advantage of all she has to offer every now and then?

 

“You wanna go out tonight?” I say, surprising myself, but I need a distraction. I need to get wasted so I don’t have to think about Madge or Katniss, and the way they both make me feel. Feelings are overrated right now and I just want to… _not_ feel them.

 

“Sorry, man. Annie and I are going to see Blue Man Group. Can you believe she’s never been?” Finnick’s eyes dance. Probably with the knowledge that he gets to show her things she’s never seen. A thunderous cloud settles over me as I think back to Katniss and what _first_ she might be experiencing right now. The waitress sets my drink down as an angry heat seeps through me. I throw back my head, downing my vodka sour before she can walk away. “Another,” I tell her, slamming the short glass down on the table. I ignore Finnick’s gaze and pretend to check my phone.

 

“Don’t you think you might want to slow down?” He questions me. I can hear the concern in his tone. No, I don’t want to slow down. I want to speed up. Why didn’t I order more than one when the waitress walked away?

 

I stop myself from ordering many more rounds while Finnick is here, but when he leaves to pick up Annie and take her to work, I peel my body from the booth and plant it firmly at the bar.

 

In the thirty minutes Finnick has been gone, I’ve downed seven more drinks, and the television in front of me is blurry. Or the football game is being played in rewind. I’m not entirely sure. I settle up my bill, which comes to almost eighty dollars, and stumble out the door into the blinding daylight. I’m not so sloshed that I’m stupid enough to drive my car, so I sluggishly hail a taxi.

 

“Where to?” the driver asks. Hmm... where to? Trying to think quickly makes me confused, but I snap my fingers in the air, or try to anyway, and tell him the first place that pops into my mind.

 

“District Twelve Lounge.”

 

* * *

 

After dropping a small wad of cash in the front seat of the cab, my foot catches the curb and I trip getting out. The taxi disappears down the street before I can process that it’s gone, and I’m left standing in front of the lounge. Something faint inside me tries to tell me this is a bad idea, but the whisper is drowned out with the vision of Katniss in her sunset orange chemise and satin robe last night.

 

The door handle jiggles under my harsh touch, but it doesn’t budge further. Locked. I lean my head against the door and say her name. Nothing. Maybe I’ll call.

 

The phone crashes to the ground when I pull it out of my pocket, my reflexes slower than normal as it slips from my hand. A brief inspection reveals what I think are a few tiny cracks in the screen. I swipe my finger over it and feel a dull slice a moment later, but I ignore it, punching in the number and requesting Katniss when I hear the familiar male voice on the other end.

 

“What time?” he asks.

 

“Now?” I hope she’s here. Or do I? If she were here that would mean she’s _working_. My mind chants slowly, _please be gone. Please be gone._

 

“She’s not in right now.” _Yiissss!_ “I can see if she’d be willing to come in early.” Early? My mind lurches forward at turtle speed and takes the long way around wondering if she already has an appointment tonight. The desperation to know overrides any common sense I could muster in my condition.

 

“Yes, please,” I say, resting my forehead against the door again.

 

“Name and number?” he asks.

 

“Peeta Mellark. I’m in the syshtem.” He hangs up with a promise to get right back to me, and I’m pleasantly surprised when, only a few moments later, my phone rings.

 

“Haaalllloooo?” I answer, dragging out every letter the word has to offer.

 

“She’ll be here in ten. You can wait in the-”

 

“Capital Suite,” I cheerily say along with him. He grunts and I hear an automated sound coming from the door as the lock unhinges, granting me access to the building. The stairs seem too far apart and reeeeally tall, so I take them slowly making sure not to stumble. Some lounge’s don’t like their girls being subjected to drunk men, while the more shady ones don’t mind. I’m not sure which type this establishment is, but I would be amazed if the guy on the phone didn’t notice I was at least tipsy. It infuriates me that they wouldn’t try to take better care of Katniss.

 

Pushing the door open takes more effort than it should. Inside I scan the room looking for Katniss, even though I know she’s not here yet. I decide to relieve myself in the bathroom and one glance in the mirror has me reeling. I look a mess with flour dusting my right cheek, forehead and a few parts of my hair. Why didn’t Finnick tell me? My brows knit together as I think about what he said. _“You look like hell, Peet.”_ The thought dawns on me that maybe he wasn’t referencing the fact that I felt like my emotional state was on display for all to see. He was quite possibly talking about my actual appearance. I’m such an _idiot_.

 

I got drunk on the stipulation that everyone could see the turmoil going on inside me, and that I needed respite from it. All I really needed was some bonding time and a quick wash up. Now I’m here in Katniss’ room with yet another charge to my credit card from the lounge.

 

I’m slightly sobered by the fact that she’ll be here any minute, and I whip my shirt off, shaking it out and then tossing it on the counter so I can splash water on my face and arms. I run wet hands through my hair in an effort to comb out the white powder. _Stupid_. You’d think a baker would know that wetting flour makes a sticky dough, and so I tug at individual strands of my hair to remove the now caked mess.

 

In my frantic effort to clean myself up, I obviously fail to hear the door to the suite open and close because Katniss appears in the mirror behind me. Our reflections lock eyes, and for a split second hers leave mine to traverse my half naked form.

 

I notice she’s underdressed, or overdressed depending on how you look at it, for work in jeans and a t-shirt. Her eyes widen, then narrow suspiciously. “What are you doing?” Her tone is laced with accusation as her arms fold over her chest. “I thought you didn’t want me that way?”

 

“I don’t!” _Yes, you do_. My mind taunts me, calling me a hypocrite as Katniss taps her foot on the marble floor. I expect any minute for steam to rise from her ears and horns to sprout from under her shiny hair, pulled back in the braid I have yet to see her go without. “I saw my reflection in the mirror and I just needed to wash up. I’m not here for that. I, I just wanted to... “ I sway a little and swallow a giant lump that has formed in my throat, “see if you were okay.”

 

Katniss’ worn riding boots make a muffled sound on the floor as she steps toward me, stopping just a foot away. A clean smell wafts in my direction from her skin, and it makes my flesh tingle. I straighten up, grabbing the hand towel from the side of the sink and roughly wipe the water away from my arms and face, and some that had splattered to my chest. It’s hard not to be transfixed on her eyes, or any part of her face really. But her eyes. Their depths speak of a longing that hasn’t quite reached the surface, and if I don’t break our staring contest, they may do me in.

 

Dropping the towel and reaching for my shirt I glance at Katniss. Her arms are still folded over her body, although more loosely than when she first hugged herself. Her eyes roam my skin curiously, and I feel myself tense up. I shrug my shirt back on, very aware of her gaze traveling down my midsection. I’m no bodybuilder, but I know I’m not hideous. Madge has complimented me many times on my six pack and my pecs. I stop myself before I can wonder what Katniss thinks. It doesn’t matter. I’m spoken for. And I won’t be a cheater.

 

“Have you… been drinking?” Katniss asks me. I look away, fully ashamed that I called on her in this state. What was I thinking? Oh, right. I _wasn’t._

 

“I just had a bad day,” I say, looking back at her as I run a hand through my hair. I don’t want to get into why it was bad - because I’ve been worrying about _her._ I’m not sure how she would take that.

 

Katniss reaches forward and runs a hand through my hair. My feet are stuck to the floor and my mouth is probably catching every fly living in Vegas right now it’s so wide open. She gives me a crooked smile and I swear I’m about to melt into a puddle. “Your hair was sticking straight up.”

 

The walls of the bathroom feel as though they are closing in and it’s becoming stuffy in here. I motion to the door, hinting that we need to leave its confines, and follow Katniss into the main room. I recline slowly on the bed, my head swirling like a flushing toilet as my brain settles itself. I stare at the ceiling for a minute, focusing on one spot to try and calm the storm brewing in my stomach. I feel sick.

 

“Are you okay?” Katniss asks. I feel the mattress dip as she plops down next to me. I launch myself off the bed and back into the restroom just in time to expel my lunch. The reappearance of the sushi caterpillar is enough to make me hurl continuously until there is nothing left. I promise myself with every lurch of my stomach that I will never eat there again.

 

When it’s over, I lay back on the cool marble floor. Katniss appears above me with a wet wash cloth and she gently wipes my face. I relax, closing my eyes. It seems like a good idea to reach up and take hold of her wrist, and she stills underneath my touch, but she doesn’t break away. My lids open slowly to see her lovely silver eyes caressing my face with concern. My heart throbs at the sight.

 

“Thank you,” I say, as my thumb rubs the underside of her wrist. The skin feels so delicate. So  warm.

 

“What are you thanking me for?” she asks, her voice as soft as the skin beneath my touch. “You’re the one that’s been helping me, although it’s in kind of a strange way.” I grin at the puzzled look on her face. It’s a beautiful face.

 

“Come work for me.” The words leave my mouth before I have a chance to think about what I’m proposing. She blanches, and slowly my brain hears what it must have sounded like. “Not like that,” I explain. “Come work for me at the bakery.” It’s the best idea I’ve had since the very first time I saw her. I should get drunk more often.

 

I focus as well as I can on her face, the artistry of her features so simple and effortless, yet her eyes hold a complexity I don’t fully understand. But I want to. I want to know everything about Katniss.  I want Katniss to be my friend. _Friend._ My eyes close and a grin takes over my lips.

 

“I can’t,” she tells me as she pulls her arm away. My head spins as my eyes fly open at her answer. I release her, feeling emptiness settle in my chest as I do.

 

“Why not?”

 

Katniss takes a deep breath, and looks away from me. She toys with her braid, and I wonder if that’s her nervous habit.

 

“Peeta, I-” she stops abruptly. “My, um, mother,” she stops again, her words sounding breathy and uncertain. “My mother has medical bills. A _lot_ of them. And unless you can afford to pay me hundreds of dollars a day, which is what I’ll potentially make doing what I’m doing right now - or rather what i’ve been _trying_ to do…” She gives me an affectionate look that I know I won’t soon forget. “I have to do this. I have too much to pay for, and it’s the quickest way I can catch up. My mom can’t work, she’s too sick, and Pri- my sister,” she corrects herself, “she’s only just in the eighth grade. My dad is… gone,” she looks down, but not enough to keep me from seeing her eyes shimmer with moisture. I want to reach over and take her hand in mine and tell her it’s all going to be okay. That I’ll do whatever I can to help her.

 

“No one has ever tried to help me like you have,” she whispers, and twines her fingers with mine as if she read my thoughts just a few moments ago. She brings the back of my hand up to her cheek and leans into it. My heart feels about three sizes too big for my chest. I am so screwed, and not in the way my credit card charges report that I am. I’m too messed up right now to consider what is going on inside me. Katniss makes me feel things I never have before. Things I should probably feel about Madge. _Madge._

 

I gently tug my hand away, pretending I need it to help push myself up from the floor. Katniss tries to help me, but I politely decline. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I can’t have her touch me. The effect she has on me is too powerful. I can barely think of anything else but her already, and when she’s around it’s like my senses go into overload. And then there’s Madge. I made a promise to her.

 

I shuffle my way back to the bed and lay down again, exhaustion from the guilt and all the emotions I’m dealing with taking over. I draw a deep breath into my lungs and rest my eyes for just a moment.

 

* * *

 

I feel warm breath on my neck and a hand on my chest. The hand shakes me gently following the whisper of my name. I don’t want to open my eyes, so I just moan and close my arm around the body laying next to me, drawing it closer. It’s so warm and soft. Comforting. I could lay here forever.

 

“Peeta?” I crack one eye, scared of what I’ll find. The voice is clearly feminine, and definitely not Madge. My heart surges into my throat when I find Katniss’s chin on my chest, hovering just below my heart. My arm is around her, holding her tight to me as she stares at me with adoring eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look anything other than defensive or mistrusting. I like this look on her, but the realization of the compromising position I’m in has me bolting upright. My head swims again as I adjust to my position, and I rub my eyes to make the shadows go away.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, sounding startled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She did scare me, but not the way she thinks. I’m scared for what this means about my feelings for Madge. What am I doing here? How many times can I screw up and expect Madge to forgive me? One look at Katniss though, her expression wounded, and my thoughts turn back to mush. I can’t explain what she does to me.

 

“You didn’t, it’s just…,” I pause, searching for words that are true. “I wasn’t expecting to wake up like that.”

 

“Well, um,” Katniss clears her throat, “you have to go. My next appointment will be here in thirty minutes.” She looks down wistfully and I wonder if she can hear the fearful thudding of my heart. I’m shocked that I’ve been asleep for three hours, and even more shocked to learn that after everything I’ve done, this is going to happen to her anyway. I don’t know what else to do. She’s turned down every offer I’ve made, and I have no other way to help. I think Madge would surely break it off with me if I hired a hooker to work the register for ten times the pay I give Rue.

 

I feel so defeated, and without saying a word I rise off the bed, making my way to the door. I’m not swaying as much as I was when I arrived earlier. Katniss follows me, and her tender touch to my arm causes me to turn and meet her eyes, shining with an emotion I have yet to see in them.

 

“Thank you, Peeta. For everything. I appreciate what you’ve tried to do for me. I believe a little in the kindness of others just because you’ve shown it to me. I never thought anyone cared, but I can’t owe anyone. I just have to make my own way, you know?” No. I don’t. But it’s what she wants. She’s so obstinate. It’s frustrating and enchanting all at the same time.

 

“I just wish,” she starts, then looks down as her cheeks bloom a beautiful rose color that complements her olive skin like an expensive red wine does a juicy steak - perfectly.

 

“What?” I prompt her, wanting her to say whatever it is out loud. My stomach twists that maybe this will be it - something I can do for her besides pay to talk her into absolutely nothing.

 

“I, I just wish, that,” she looks up at me and licks her lips. I try not to care, though blood begins to pound between my ears. It’s probably just a midday hangover. “That you had been my first.” I suck in a breath, but it doesn’t make it all the way to my lungs. It’s as though I’ve been punched in the gut before I could breathe. No air goes in, and no air escapes.

 

“You’ve been so kind and caring. And I, I know you would have treated me like a person, and not an object,” Katniss explains. It’s the one thing I can’t help her with. I can’t ease her trepidation or lessen the pain she’s sure to experience with some loser who doesn’t care about her. I’m tell myself I don’t wish for the same thing. Though, the way my heart is shattering for her has me wondering.

 

Fear overtakes me that this has gone too far. That I’m in over my head trying to help this girl. But despite the panic, I can’t shake the fact that maybe I’m meant to help her somehow. What have all the dreams pointed toward if not this?

* * *

 

I race down the stairs and call the booking number for the lounge. The same guy answers, and I ask if the person who booked Katniss tonight can be bumped or pushed off on another girl.

 

“You mean, MJ?” he questions suggestively, as if he’s scolding me for knowing her true name. “Nope. He’s specifically asked for her.” Who would ask for Katniss? I’m the only person that has booked any time with her. No one would suspect she’s still a virgin, if they ever knew at all, and she’s so new it just doesn’t make sense. She’s made no reputation for herself. “Apparently he kept her card from her first night, and he wants her, so no, I can’t bump him for you and your _strange appetite_.”

 

What did he mean by that? Does he think I have some weird fetish? I have half a mind to march back up to the room where Katniss is changing into her work attire and demand to know what she’s telling people I’m doing to her. It’s one thing to be paying for something I’m not getting, but it’s a whole other to be blamed for it.

 

“How do you know what goes on in there?” I challenge him. The phone clicks, the line going dead. I stare at it, wondering if I should call again. It’s probably no use. They won’t bump the guy and I’ve just wasted three appointments trying to save a girl from giving away a precious gift to someone like the rat bastard that’s bought her tonight.

 

Steps echo from down the hallway and the tall man that passed me Katniss’ card strolls toward me with a menacing look on his face.

 

“What’s your angle, Mellark?” he asks.

 

“What do you mean?” I question back, caught off guard that he uses my last name as though we know each other. I’m uncomfortable that I know nothing about someone who has my credit card and personal information stored away on a computer system.

 

“Why do you keep coming around Kat- _MJ_?” he corrects himself. “What’s the deal with you not taking what you’re paying for? Are you a serial killer?”

 

“No! And it’s none of your business, but if you must know, I’m not paying to have sex with her. And how would you know that anyway?” The effects of the alcohol are wearing off, and I find my patience spreading as thin as room temperature butter.

 

“Look,” he glances around and lowers his voice. “M- _Katniss_ is my cousin.” Before I register what I’m doing, my fist has pulled back and is flying towards his face. It lands on his shoulder since the alcohol hasn’t fully left my system, and Katniss’ cousin grabs my arms, twisting it behind my back and locking me in place.

 

“What is your problem, man?” he breathes angrily into my ear, pulling on my arm to apply painful pressure to my shoulder. I grimace, but I won’t let him know he’s hurting me.

 

“You,” I growl, “are my problem. She’s _family_ , and you’re selling her off like a thing?” The word ‘thing’ leaves my mouth with a every ounce of disgust I can manage. “Aren’t you supposed to protect her?”

 

“I’m not selling her off like any _thing_ ,” he says, returning the word with equal fervor as he releases my arm and pushes me away from him. I turn and see him take a defensive stance, but I don’t charge like I want to. “If you haven’t noticed, Katniss has a mind of her own, and she listens to no one. Not even me.”

 

This I know to be true. But how can he just sit by while men are booking time with her? “Did you realize I had been drinking? What if I were some lecherous pervert? How would you have protected her?” His face morphs from annoyed to confused.

 

“Are you trying to be her boyfriend or something?”

 

“No.” My response is less certain than I would have liked it to be, and yet another wave of guilt comes over me again as I remember Madge and the promise I made to her. Katniss and I will never happen, so it’s best to extinguish those thoughts now.

 

“Why do you care so much?” he asks, placing his hands across his chest and shifting his weight.

 

It’s a question that has crossed my mind a few times when I’ve thought about Katniss. I’ve been trying to answer it myself. I’m not so sure that I would do what I’ve done for Katniss for anyone else. Of course, I didn’t see anyone else in the back of my bakery huddled underneath a tree, shivering from the cold rain and starving for nourishment.

 

“I guess it just bothers me that she feels like she _has_ to do this rather than she _chose_ to do it. And if I can do something about, then why wouldn’t I?” The man’s expression softens somewhat, although there is still a glint of suspicion in his silver eyes.

 

“Look, I tried to help her. I did. But I’ve got four younger siblings at home that I’m responsible for, and they take pretty much every dime I make. I want to help Katniss, but she’s so stubborn. Always talking about making her own way and all that.” I relax slightly at his use of the same words I heard from Katniss twenty minutes ago. “I hate to see her do this to herself, and every time I saw you I hated what you might do to her. But then she asked me who you were, and told me how you were a perfect gentleman with her.”

 

“I tried.” I tell him sadly. “She won’t let me help her.” Katniss is a beautiful girl. She could do so much with her life.

 

“I’ve been trying to ease her in, you know, with just one guy each night,” he visibly shivers at the thought. “The guy coming tonight? He’s the same guy you outbid on the street a few nights ago.” I feel my teeth grind and my jaw flexes so hard I get a facial cramp.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“He’s in the system. Uses our girls all the time. Never had any complaints, but he gives me the creeps.”

 

“You have to cancel him. You can’t let him in to see her,” I beg, seeing a sliver of hope that I can still save her from this.

 

“I can’t,” he tells me, and I punch the nearest wall. “I’ll lose my job, man. I’m a highschool dropout and there’s no place else I can make this kind of money.”

 

I’m all out of options. “Look, Katniss is a big girl. She can take care of herself. It’s not like she hasn’t done this before.” I shoot him an incredulous look. I’m sure my eyes are as wide as saucers.

 

“No, she hasn’t.” I say with gritted teeth, staring a hole through the guy. He bristles, looking back at me with an intense look that confirms to me he had no idea.

 

“She told me-”

 

“Well, she told _me_ differently,” I say, feeling like I’m so close to getting him to do what I’m asking. His hands clench and release as he thinks. The time seems to tick by forever, until his phone vibrates with an incoming call. He checks it, then looks at me with dread in his eyes It must be her visitor.

 

“Go out the back. I’ll get rid of him.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter helped the story along. It’s been awhile since I’ve written it, and thanks a TON to Burkygirl who caught some inconsistencies that come with not updating a fic often enough! So, Katniss has been saved from giving her virginity away again. I have some exciting ideas for the next few chapters. It’s gonna get intense! Stick with me! Pbg


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to Burkygirl for making this readable for you all. I am going to lead off here by asking you to trust me. You will be a little upset but it’s nothing bad and will be fixed I promise. I can’t just write a fluff story. There has got to be something throwing off their little groove and it starts here. I’m on Tumblr at Peetabreadgirl. Come say hi! 
> 
> PS - next update will be for Welcome Home, which has almost 140 notes over on tumblr. I haven’t posted it here yet, but as soon as I get the second chapter done I will post them at the same time.

* * *

 

 

The sharp ring of my alarm splinters through my throbbing head. It goes off at the same time it does every morning, only this time I’ve been staring at the ceiling since 1 A.M. I’d love nothing more than to chuck it out the window, but I know that impulse isn’t really going to solve anything. It’ll only cost me more money, and my visits to Katniss have already cost me a grand.

 

I fell asleep as soon as I got home, only to wake up after midnight and the memories of what I’d done the day before kept me up until now. Questions - the main one being could I have done things differently - swirled through my mind in the early morning hours. To start, I probably shouldn’t have drank so much. That had caused a major lapse in judgement, resulting in paying for more of Katniss’s time. What am I going to tell Madge? I don’t think any amount of honesty can explain not just one but _three_ visits to a prostitute, even though she hasn’t actually taken that leap yet. And then there was the run-in with her cousin, Gale. That had ended in my favor, saving Katniss’s virginity and my own sanity. I cringe at what I must have looked like to him, half drunk and spilling her secret, begging for him to spare her.

 

Still at a loss for answers, I drag myself out of bed, wondering what will go wrong today.

 

It takes me longer than normal to go through my morning routine, and after I grab an apple for breakfast and lock the door behind me, I mutter a curse at the empty parking space where my car should be. I completely forgot that I took a cab home after my visit to the Lounge because I left my car at the sushi place, since I still wasn’t sober enough to drive.

 

Knowing I'll be late for work, I call a cab to take me to my car and sit on the front stoop waiting, wondering why my life has begun to spin out of control. I am doing things that are completely out of the ordinary for me - forgetting where my car is, being late to work, getting drunk in the middle of the day. Irresponsibly charging up my credit card. Spending time with a virgin prostitute in a negligee. I think about Katniss, and how this obsession with helping her has to go somewhere. It has to end in actually making a difference in her life or what have I accomplished? Hundreds of dollars worth of lovely chats on my credit card at nineteen percent interest? I could list a slew of other offenses if I start thinking about Madge. I am an engaged man, playing with fire. Madge will certainly be furious. And even if she does manage to forgive me, will she ever trust me again?

 

The cab turns into the parking lot and the headlights slash through my pupils, blinding me for second and sending a shot of pain through my still-pounding head. I climb in, give the driver the address for the sushi restaurant and then slump in the back seat with a deep sigh.It only takes five minutes to get to the bakery after I’ve located my car. When I pull into my parking space in the back, the headlights flicker over a small figure underneath the tree and my foot slams instinctively on the brake.

 

I finish parking, blinking and rubbing my eyes, staring into the rear view mirror, certain I’m hallucinating. It seems so much like my dream. Is she hurt? She must need something or she wouldn’t be here, would she?

 

I scramble out of the car and my eyes immediately fix on that spot under the tree. The moonlight bounces off her hair and skin, making her seem ethereal. I feel a smile start to form, but it fades quickly as she approaches. Her lips are in a tight line and those silver eyes, two mini orbs of night like the one shining down on us, cast a biting glare. She stomps loudly over the small parking lot to me.

 

“Katniss, what are you-” I start, but she cuts me off.

 

“How _dare_ you?” she seethes. I cautiously raise my hands in surrender as she pokes a finger on my chest. “What makes you think you can just come to my place of employment and tell me what I can and can’t do?” Technically we should be talking about _who_ she can and can’t do, but this hardly seems like the time to bring that up.

 

“Katniss, I only meant to help you-”

 

“By taking food and rent away from me and my sister?”

 

“That’s not-” I stop, defeated already. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I think of a way to fix this and explain myself to her. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I was just trying to help-”

 

“I don’t need your help, Peeta!” She spits out, folding her arms across her chest when she’s finished flinging them in the air. She may as well have slapped me across the cheek. “I never asked for it!” she continues, her arms finding life again. “Who do you think you are? Some knight in shining armor coming to rescue the lowly virgin from her big, bad circumstances? You don’t get to decide my path for me!”

 

Her indignance fuels my own as we stand in the dark of the early morning. Katniss glares at me, and I can practically hear her nostrils flaring with every breath. I stare at her, uncertain of how to continue. To break the standoff, I turn to the back door and slide my key into the lock, leaving the door open in invitation. Walking in ahead of her, I drop the keys with a clatter onto the counter after flicking the light switch. When I see she’s standing just inside the door, I walk back across the kitchen to close and lock it. She arches a mocking eyebrow at me and it pisses me off that after all I’ve done for her, she still might think I’m going to use her that way.

 

“Safety precaution,” I respond, cutting my eyes at her in resentment before facing her fully and launching into my own irritated rant. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more forgiving toward me. I have paid for many hours of your time to talk - just _talk_ \- to you. I haven’t laid a finger on you out of respect, even though I could have.” The only safe place for my hands right now is tugging at the roots of my hair, which I do furiously. “You even asked me to and I didn’t.” The silver of her eyes is barely visible through the furious slits of her eyelids as she moves to stand toe-to-toe with me.

 

“You’re right,” she says with a hollow voice, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. I can feel everything we’ve built over the last few days being sucked away through an invisible vacuum. “You’ve paid for services you haven’t received.” She yanks her t-shirt over her head. It seems to fall in slow motion. Against her perfect skin is a simple, gray cotton bra. It’s a complete 360 from what I’ve seen her in, but somehow it makes her more real, more… _desirable._ Like I’m seeing a side of Katniss that no one has ever seen. The alarms begin to go off like fireworks in my head when my mind catches up and I understand that she means to render the services I’ve paid for right here, right now.

 

“Katniss-”

 

“Take your clothes off,” she demands quietly. I can see in her eyes she’s determined not to owe me, but I can also tell she’s unsure of herself in this role.

 

“Katniss-”

 

“ _Take_ them _off,_ ” she orders again, clearly angry with my refusal. Stepping away from her, I’m struggling to keep my eyes only on her face. She follows me, and after another few steps she has me backed into the wall, her body flush against mine. Her cheeks are ruddy and she exhales in shaky bursts across my neck. I feel my cock begin to pulse inside my jeans as she leans into me, reaching for my waistband. I curse the part of me that wants to let her do this.

 

Thankfully, the warmth of her hands on the skin of my abdomen jars me into action. I jump away from her and immediately see the hurt my rejection has caused flash across her face. _Dammit!_ That was not my intention. My heart shatters into a million pieces, and when I reach out to comfort her, placing my hands gently on her shoulders she flinches, knocking my hands away.

 

“Don’t,” she says bitterly. “I _will_ pay you back, Peeta.” I blanch at her statement. “Every penny. I don’t know when, but as soon as I can.”

 

“Katniss, that’s not what I want.”

 

“Well you obviously don’t want me!” Her voice bellows through the bakery, her tone hinting at disappointment and her eyes full of… longing?

 

“That’s not true!” I holler back. Her eyes widen, freezing the size of half-dollar coins, but I’m as shocked as she is. What the hell? I just told Katniss, albeit in a roundabout way, that I want her. Do I? When I think about it, the question comes to mind - what guy wouldn’t want her? There probably isn’t a straight man in this town that would turn her down. She’s beautiful - more than beautiful, actually. She’s stunning. And mysterious. Fierce. Brave, fearless and stubborn. Belligerent and sexy. Katniss is all of that and more, and every bit of it calls to me like a moth to a blazing flame.

“Then why won’t you let me touch you?” Her whispered question pulls me from the dangerous path my mind wants to roam.

 

“Katniss,” I say delicately, trying to diffuse the tension between us. “Not wanting you and not wanting to take advantage of you aren’t the same thing.” The realization that I do want her adds to the guilty weight around my neck. I’ve made promises to both Madge _and_ Katniss. To one, I’ve committed my future and everything I have. To the other, I’ve pledged help and protection.

 

 _Katniss doesn’t want it_ , a quiet but firm voice whispers in my head. _She turned down your offer to work in the bakery. She came here to tell you to stop interfering. She’s trying to rectify this feeling that she owes you._ I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. How could I have been so naive? I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, and in trying I’ve possibly ruined my future.

 

Another glimpse into Katniss’s eyes has my heart hanging heavy in my chest. They are full of confusion. She’s still so pure in a way, but also unfortunately experienced in life’s harsh realities. A ragged breath escapes me when it dawns on me that I can’t keep doing this. I have to focus on what I _can_ do, and not what I’m powerless to change. I _can_ be the best man possible for Madge. She deserves at least that much from me. Hell, after this week she deserves the moon, the stars and the friggin’ sun to make up for everything.

 

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” I croak out before I can think about what I’m saying. I need to distance myself from this hold Katniss seems to have over me. She has no idea of the way she pulls me to her.

 

“W-what?” She looks at me as though she can’t believe what she just heard. Honestly, I’m shocked as well. “What do you mean ‘we can’t _see_ each other anymore’? In case you haven’t noticed, Peeta, you’re the one that’s been doing all the _seeing_.” Her defenses are up, arms folded across her chest, hipped cocked to the side, eyes shooting very pointed arrows at me.  I’m stunned to silence by what I let slip out that I hadn’t even registered her asking me if that was all I had to say. Moments later she’s slipped her shirt on and is at the back door, calling to me over her shoulder. “Don’t interfere in my work again.” The force of the door meeting the frame rattles the windows. And then she’s gone, leaving a hole bigger than I could have expected, and wondering exactly what it is I’ve just screwed up.

 

* * *

  

I catch Rue watching me throughout the day as I stumble through a haze of confusion. I barely had the muffins and sweet breads ready when the doors opened at five, and I’ve dropped a countless number of items, including a knife, at my feet. I couldn’t find focus if it were dead in front of me and marked with a bullseye.

 

I did the right thing. I _know_ I did. So why is it killing me? I turn my thoughts to Madge, who comes home in two days. My stomach roils at the knowledge that I’m going to have to spell out what I did, and even though Katniss and I didn’t actually _do_ anything, I can only imagine what it’s going to look like to my fiance. What it would look like to _me_ if the shoe were on the other foot.

 

I was always going to have to tell her about this week, but exactly how honest do I need to be? Does Madge need to hear how attracted I’ve been to another woman? That Katniss got my cock to stand at attention more than once without even touching me? I’m already going to have to tell her why I even took on this project - the dreams. I’ve avoided telling her about them until now for obvious reasons. What woman wants to know the man she’s said yes to spending the rest of her life with can’t get a starving hooker out of his subconscious?

 

“What are you thinking about?” I jump in surprise as Rue’s inquiry cuts through my complicated mess of thoughts.

 

“Nothing much,” I say casually, lying through my teeth and hoping she can’t read my mind. I shudder at what she would find if she could. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s almost 2 P.M.

 

“I’m almost done here,” I tell her, astounded that I’ve managed to finish most of my day’s work before quitting time. “Can you sweep up for me?” I ask Rue sheepishly. She’s such a great employee and I hate to saddle her with my share of the chores, but I need to get out of here. I need to be completely alone so I can lay out step by step the plan of action for resolving this predicament. I don’t want to mess up any more than I already have.

 

“Distracted?” she counters with a knowing look.

 

“You could say that.”

 

“If you need someone to talk to…” she tapers off. I give her a genuine smile. I’m touched at her sincerity, but there is no way I can tell anyone but Madge about this.

 

“Thanks, Rue, but I’ll be okay. Just ready for Madge to come home.” That’s the overstatement of the year.

 

“Alright,” she concedes. “But get some rest will you? Those bags under your eyes are so heavy they look like they’re carrying watermelons.” The sentiment has me grinning. The first smile that’s cracked my face in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe more.

 

I tell her thank you again, dropping my apron in the laundry basket underneath the counter. The keys are in my hand and I’m out the door before any more conversation can be started. I need a shower and a long nap before I can process anything else.

 

* * *

 

The pillow is warm underneath me as I wake to a buzzing sound, dazed and confused about where I am. One glance around the room confirms I’m at home, in my bed, but the events from the week begin to swirl around in my head and a cloud of reality settles back over me. I must have been sleeping hard to have forgotten everything that has gone on since Madge went away.

 

The buzzing continues and I fumble underneath my pillow searching for it. I squint to adjust my eyes to the brightness of the screen. The number is a familiar one. The Lounge. I bolt upright, my head spinning from the sudden motion, but I answer the call anyway, before I remember my resolve that Katniss and I need to go our separate ways for me to right things with Madge.

 

“Katniss?” I ask with an edge of concern in my voice that is miniscule to the amount of concern I’m feeling.

 

“Gale,” the voice corrects. My heart stutters, undecided whether or not it feels relieved.

 

“Gale,” I repeat his name. “Is - is something wrong?”

 

“Yes,” he answers, then he retracts it with a sigh. “No.” The elevator ride my heart is on is making me nauseous.

 

“What is it?” I demand, allowing him to sense the determination in my voice.

 

“Are you-” he pauses again.

 

“Yeah?” I ask again, feeling like I’m pulling teeth here.

 

“Katniss has a potential visitor tonight,” he states bluntl. “And it’s not you.” The strings attached to the elevator break, sending my heart plummeting deep underground. I knew this morning that this could happen. _Would_ happen, if I’m being honest. I had to let her go. She was right, I can’t decide her path for her, but that doesn’t make this pill any easier to swallow. I’d been hanging onto some small glimmer of hope that she would choose differently.

 

“And?” I wince, my voice sounding severe and uncaring to my own ears. I can’t imagine what they sound like to his.

 

“I was wondering if you wanted me to run your card again so I can tell the guy she’s booked?” he asks hesitantly.

 

“No. I’m out, Gale.”

 

“You’re out?” He sounds incredulous. “I thought-”

 

“You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped.” I echo my thoughts from earlier, even though it takes all I have not to hang up the phone and go down there to speak to her again. I roll my eyes at myself. I’ve known her all of four days and that’s enough to know it’s impossible to talk her out of anything she’s got her mind set on doing, which is why I had to end it.

 

“That didn’t take long, did it? Superman saw his kryptonite and walked away. Decided it wasn’t worth it. You know, I thought you were different. That you might actually care enough about her to help."

 

“It’s not my place,” I bite back, fending off the way his statement tugs at me.

“You wanted it to be.” Gale’s allegation punches me in the gut.

 

“No-” I try to deny it but he cuts me off.

 

“I saw the way you looked at her picture the first night I handed you the card. The way you outbid the other guy for her. I saw the fear in your eyes yesterday when you begged me to tell the guy coming in that she was sick. You’ve called for her three times and haven’t touched her once. If you just wanted to screw her you’d have been gone by now.”

 

What he says hits too close to home. I turn my thoughts to Madge. I have to hold on to that - to _her_ \- to keep me grounded in this situation. “You’re wrong. That’s not what I want,” I answer before disconnecting the call. It feels like a lie.

 

* * *

 

It’s been two days since I hung up on Gale. Two and a half days since I’ve seen Katniss. And I’m only one hour away from Madge walking through the door to the home we share. In spite of the news I’ll be admitting to her, I hope having her back means I can sleep again. I haven’t been able to close my eyes once and not think about Katniss with that blonde guy. Or Katniss with someone worse. Someone who wants to do unspeakable things to her. I’ve born witness to her demise three times just this week when I fell asleep. I don’t know why my nightmares are about losing her, but they are. I’ve begun to dread the night, waking up in sweat-soaked sheets, panting until I realize it’s not real. The first two times it seemed so real that I reached for the phone under my pillow to call Gale and tell him Katniss was in danger.

 

The drives to work have been just as torturous, picturing her with the random men who pass me on the street, silently seething at them for something they most likely haven’t done. I wish Gale hadn’t called. I wish I didn’t know what became of her. I don’t know how to _un_ feel everything. Showers don’t help. Alcohol is not my friend. Sleep is my worst enemy. I just want Madge to come home and this to all be over.

 

* * *

 

The lock on our front door jiggles, signaling Madge’s arrival. I hop off the couch and slap my face a few times, trying to get myself to snap out of whatever this is that’s got me down. I’m nervous. My stomach pitches as the door swings open, revealing Madge’s tanned face and blonde hair pulled up into a knot at the top of her head. I barely notice how the white sundress and cropped denim jacket she’s wearing flatter her figure I’m so jittery.

 

“Hey, you,” I greet her, pressing a kiss to her lips.

 

“Hey, you,” she repeats, smiling at me as I lean down to grab her bag and haul it to our room. I deposit the bag near the closet, and turn around to ask how her trip was, but she hasn’t followed me into the bedroom. Instead, I find her in the kitchen, guzzling a glass of water.

 

“How was the trip? No cabana boy canoodling, right?” I joke, trying to lighten my heavy mood. Madge chokes and spews water across the counter, wetting the mail I retrieved earlier.

 

“What? No!” she cries, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Why would you ask that?” I reach for a towel and pat the mail dry, then hand it to her so she can wipe any stray droplets off her skin.

 

“I was just joking, Madge,” I try to grin at her, but I have to look away. “Gah, you’re so easy.” I brush imaginary crumbs from my shirt and then meet her gaze. Her eyes stare a hole through me so intense that I wonder if she can read what I’ve done across my guilty expression.

 

“I just… wasn’t expecting that as a hello from my finace, that’s all,” she explains. I wrap her in a hug, wondering why I haven’t done it yet, and feel even more guilty than before.

 

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long week. You wanna sit down?” I pull her to the couch and pat the seat next to me. She sits down, our thighs touching, my hands folded in my lap. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out one detail.”

 

“Oh, it was pretty boring actually,” she says, pulling at a thread on the arm of her jacket. “Not much to tell. Well, we did go snorkeling,” she relays, deciding there must be something about the trip worth telling. “Saw some dolphins. Did you know dolphins can have sex with humans?” I scrunch my face in disgust and Madge lets out a high pitched giggle. “Just something we heard from Franco.”

 

“Who’s Franco?” I ask.

 

“Franco? Oh!” she says as if she didn’t realize she said his name. “He was our, um, tour guide. For our, um... tours. He was full of lame information like that,” she says flippantly, pulling at the knot on her head until her hair tumbles down around her shoulders. I watch, mesmerized, picturing dark locks instead of light ones. I blink away the image and mentally slap myself for allowing my thoughts to slip back to Katniss while Madge is sitting right here in front of me. How would I feel if she were thinking about some other guy?

 

Madge yawns and stands up. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower. Let’s order chinese when I’m done, kay?”

 

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever my baby wants, my baby gets,” my voice follows her down the hall. She turns to stare at me, a perplexed look covering her sun-kissed face. I’ve never called her baby before and never in so macho a tone. I scold myself for overcompensating and practically laying my guilt at her feet and try to smooth it over with, “I’m just glad you’re home.” Her smile is big but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Then she disappears into the bedroom.

 

I wonder if she knows? No. That’s impossible. Still, though, for my sanity I run through the list of people who know about my week. It’s pretty short. Just me, Katniss, and Gale. Neither of them know Madge, so there’s no way she could know through them. I’ve been checking the mail every day out of paranoia that someone is going to open my credit card bill and find those charges, even though I know it’ll be a week or two before it’s due in my box.

 

I rack my brain for reasons she’s acting a little bit ‘off’. Madge is usually confident and straightforward. Nothing catches her off guard. That will probably change as soon as I drop my little bomb on her.

 

After ordering and picking up the takeout from our favorite Chinese dive two blocks over, Madge and I are sitting on the couch watching the episode of Blindspot she missed while she was away last week. When the food is gone and there is still twenty minutes of the show left, I reach my arm around Madge’s shoulder and pull her into me. She stiffens at first, which is strange and makes me wonder again if she has a clue, but then she quickly relaxes and places her hand on my chest.

 

“Is everything okay? You seem…” I pause, trying to think of a word that’s not offensive, like ‘moody’. I learned that lesson the hard way. “...tense,” I decide, certain that one can’t get me into trouble. And for added measure I begin to rub her shoulders. She releases a sigh and leans her head forward.

 

“I guess I am a little tense,” she answers. “The wedding is in four months.” _Right_. I didn’t forget, it just hasn’t been on my mind as of late.

 

“Yes, it is. I’ll do whatever you need. Put me to work,” I offer. She turns her body to face me then.

 

“I missed you,” she says quietly. Her eyes roam my face, catching my gaze a few times only to flit away quickly. I feel guilty again because I was so busy trying to help Katniss I didn’t really have time to miss my fiance. Not trusting my voice right now, I hug her tightly into my chest instead of repeat the words.  

 

“Let’s go to bed,” she says shyly, pulling me up. Madge has never been shy with me, so I’m not sure where this is coming from, but I let her pull me down the hall, my free hand flicking the light switches as we go.

 

We separate as she gets ready for bed. I sit down on the edge of the mattress, watching her purposefully. Her dress comes off and I can see the tan lines from her bikini. I love tan lines. Her skin is dark and smooth like browned butter. Her back is to me so I can’t see anything but the cross-crossed lines of her swim top when she removes her bra, tossing it into the the dirty laundry basket.

 

She slips on a cotton t-shirt, brushes her teeth, combs her hair and climbs into the sheets. I follow her lead, stripping my clothes off and brushing my teeth as well. When I slip under the covers, she reaches for me, pressing her lips to mine in an unexpectedly chaste kiss.

 

“I’m tired tonight,” she confesses. “You don’t mind if we delay my homecoming til tomorrow night?” Before I can answer, she’s snoring softly. I’m sure I won’t sleep tonight, but not for the same reason that’s kept me up the last week. Tonight, I will lay awake wondering why I am relieved by her question.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too bad, right? Quick reminder - I am an Everlarker, so that’s my endgame here. Please, oh please, trust me. Honestly, though, how many of you would have rolled your eyes if Peeta had run to her rescue again? And probably you would have stopped reading my updates… Talk to me! Is this story keeping you interested? Pbg


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it’s been a while for this one to be updated, but it only has a few more chapters left. I will be focusing on it more regularly so that I can mark it complete. I hope you’re all still interested, and that this update makes you squee instead of roll your eyes. I have delicious plans for this universe! @sunsetsaremydreams I dedicate this chapter to you, since you’ve been waiting so patiently while still letting me know how much you love it. Thank you, darling! And many thanks to the girls that keep me in line when I write - Burkygirl and Xerxia.

It’s been a week since Madge came home. We quickly fell into our old routine of busy and busier thanks to our demanding lives and now the wedding. Every time I try to have a conversation with her to tell her what I did while she was away, her phone rings with some catering question or flower emergency, and it’s not like I can just blurt it out. Instead, it sits inside, festering. It may come out in a way I’m not prepared for if I wait too long. And the bakery is no place to talk about it, either. No one else needs to know our personal business.

 

I know weddings are stressful and take months of planning. I do plenty of cakes for them, but all of this seems to be more of an inconvenience at this point rather than the exciting time it should be. I always thought if I felt any nerves about getting married it would be because I was deliriously happy and anxious. Sadly, what I’m feeling is definitely not that.

 

I’m confused, and… _scared_. But scared of what exactly? When I search deep down for answer, the only thing I can come up with is that I’m either afraid of losing Madge, or of never seeing Katniss again. It’s probably both, but which of them commands more of that fear is what I can’t put my finger on.

 

I both dread and rejoice every day that my credit card statement doesn’t come in, but it’s due any day now. I check for it daily when I get home from the bakery, but no dice. I know when it does come I’ll have to sit Madge down and explain it all - no excuses - and beg her forgiveness for my stupidity.

 

Even with that daunting conversation looming over me, I haven’t been able to get Katniss off my mind. Our last encounter, when she stripped her shirt off and practically forced herself on me, replays on autopilot almost hourly. It’s a heady concoction of a fantasy and a nightmare rolled into one. I wanted to reach out and touch her. Hold her. The mere presence of her almost compelled me to. But it’s the mixture of hurt and anger in Katniss’s eyes when I rejected her that haunts me after dark. I don’t sleep much, but I don’t have to be asleep to have her on the brain. She’s always there, even when I will her not to be. The thought of her is just as stubborn as the real thing, it seems.

 

I haven’t seen her since our confrontation. Haven’t heard a peep about her or her cousin after my phone call with Gale. Turning him down was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It was basically turning Katniss down. I thought some time and distance would help clear my head, put my priorities back in place. But instead, the water is murkier than ever.

 

It’s not right, these thoughts about Katniss, yet I can’t stop them. And when I look at Madge all I feel is guilt. All-consuming, limb-numbing remorse that’s going to eat away at me until I’ve purged it all. I owe it to her to be the best husband I can be, but even that seems as daunting a task as climbing Mount Everest right now.

 

Madge and I have only been intimate once since her return, and it didn’t seem either of us was into it. Neither one of us got off. I apologized and blamed it on lack of sleep and stress. She said she understood and the next day asked if we could wait until our wedding night, that abstaining now would make it more special then. Any red-blooded male would balk at that, maybe even argue, or at least try to talk about it. What’s got me most worried isn’t 14 weeks without sex. It’s the fact that I was relieved and agreeable to her idea.

 

What am I doing? I think I’m losing my mind. I need someone to talk to, so I ring Finnick and let him know I’m coming over after I leave the bakery today. Glancing at the clock, I note that’s only two hours away and there’s still so much to do here. I really need to hire another person, but that’s not something I can think about now.

 

I double my speed, getting as much done as I possibly can before I leave to meet Finnick. Rue sweetly accepts responsibility for the few tasks I couldn’t get to. I should give her a raise. That, too, will have to wait because I’m late to meet Finnick. I leave quick a note for Madge, who will be in after five to work on the books, and rush out of the bakery, driving a little faster than I should to the coffee shop near his work.

 

I find him in a corner and swiftly make my way over to him. I feel jittery. My fingers tingle and I bounce on my toes as I walk. To anyone else I might look peppy or extremely caffeinated, or on drugs, but Finnick knows me. I can see it in his creased brow.

 

“What’s going on, Pete?”

 

I sit down and order a water before I launch into the story. I’m still trying to figure out the best way to tell it. I imagine the out-with-it style would sound something like _‘I was seeing a hooker while Madge was in  Mexico’_. That’s no good. I rap my knuckles lightly on the table while I think, staring at nothing really. I almost decide to feign illness and go home, but I need to get this off my chest in a big way.

 

“You’re acting stranger than you were when Madge was away. Spill it.”

 

It’s almost as if his command to _spill it_ carries some voodoo quality with it because what pops into my head, and subsequently out of my mouth, is something even I am not prepared to hear.

 

“I don’t know if I want to marry Madge.”

 

I freeze, listening to the echo of my statement as it fills the air. Finnick leans forward, elbows on the table, eyebrows above his hairline.

 

“Come again?” he asks with an edge of concern in his voice. It eases some of the nerves I’m having.

 

“Okay, maybe that was… too much. I’m just, I don’t know… having second thoughts?” Explaining without thinking first isn’t going to help. I need to get my thoughts together before I say something detrimental to my relationship with my future wife again.

 

“It’s alright, Peeta. Lots of guys get cold feet.” He reaches across the table with his long arms and pats me on the shoulder.

 

I cock my head and look at him, wishing I could blame it on that. But I’m not sure I can. How did things change inside me so quickly? Madge was gone all of a week. _One week._ No, it’s not cold feet. I’m actually the world’s worst fiance.

 

I shake my head slowly. “No, that’s not it.”

 

“You wanna tell me what it is, then?” Finnick asks after I don’t elaborate.

 

It all comes pouring out. I start with Katniss under the tree in the rain, then move to the recurring dream, ignoring the confusion I see on his face, knowing it will be cleared up by the end of the story. When I get to the part about seeing her picture on the card, he stops me.

 

“You were with a hooker?” He gives me a surprised look.

 

“Yes, but not like that-”

 

“How exactly do you spend time with a hooker and not do _that_?” His question is layered in doubt, but there’s a tiny smirk on his lips, and I see now how difficult this is going to be with Madge. Finnick is just my friend. He might be shocked, but it won’t change our relationship much if at all. Madge, on the other hand… _Brrrrr._ I shudder thinking about it.

 

“Just - I didn’t okay? Trust me.” Finnick nods his head in a display of faith, another thing I know I won’t get from Madge, at least at first, and motions for me to continue. I take a deep breath and start again. “I just feel this connection to her. Like I was meant to protect her. Help her in some way. But, damn, if she’s not the most stubborn girl I’ve ever known.” I talk about Katniss, but leave out some of the better descriptions, like beautiful and alluring.

I stick with the basics. I tell him about the multiple visits, her history and why she chose that particular profession. I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to justify that she’s a virgin. My heart sinks that it may not be the case anymore, but it’s the last I knew of her so I’m going to keep telling myself that until I know otherwise. _If_  I ever know, that is. But I can’t stand the uncertainty I see in his eyes. I know it’s not for me; we’ve known each other for years. It’s for Katniss. He doesn’t trust her.

 

I finish the story with her cousin Gale reaching out to me, my refusal to do any more, and how it’s gutted me like a fish. When I finally stop I feel so much lighter now that _somebody_ knows.

“You did the right thing, Peeta. You’re a good man. You did what you could for her, but in the end, you can’t force help on anyone.” I know he speaks from experience. His crackhead mother is still on the streets, using. Doing whatever she can to score a hit. But his encouragement falls flat because Katniss isn’t addicted to anything. Except maybe her stubbornness.

 

“What are you grinning for?” he questions, and I realize I’m smiling at the thought of her fiery nature. I shake my head, not sure I want to bring up.

 

“Look, you’ve got a good thing going with Madge. You really wanna risk that for a prostitute?”

 

My answer is barely audible. “No.” _Maybe?_

 

“You did something noble, although stupid in hindsight.” There’s no denying his words. “And if you, in fact, paid for a hooker and did _not_ have sex with her, I’m sure Madge will believe you and, given time learn to trust you again, and all will be forgiven. And then I may need to show you what to do with a woman,” he adds and grins at me like he’s found out a secret. “Especially before your wedding night.”

 

“That’s not why I didn’t have sex with Katniss,” I reply, only slightly annoyed. I feel like I’ve been caught sneaking back into the house. I know what I think about Katniss, but I’m scared to explore what it means about my feelings. For her or Madge. I do love Madge. I want to do right by her, but when I think about Katniss, everything just doesn’t add up. It’s like putting 2  and 2 together and getting 7. Inexplicable.

 

My phone rings. The number isn’t familiar so I let it go to voicemail.

 

“You know what,” I say to Finnick, glancing at my watch. I’ve been here for an hour already. It’s time to face the music. “I should go. I need to get home.” I told my friend what I came to tell him, but the rest… I’m not ready to share.

 

The phone rings again from the mysterious number as I turn on my street. I send it straight to voicemail, my mind too preoccupied to deal with a number that’s not saved in my contacts. If they want to reach me they can leave a message.

When I pull up to the house I see Madge’s car. My heart starts pounding and my gut twists. She’s usually not home until after six. I guess it’s a sign. I sit in my car and breathe, count to twenty, then fifty, then one hundred before I get out. My feet feel like lead as I trudge up the walkway. I’m about to break my fiance’s trust, and most likely her heart. For the second time today I ask myself how I got here.

The door creaks when I open it, something that’s never bothered me before, but now it seems ominous, the soundtrack to what’s about to unfold. She’s not immediately visible in the living room so I move to the kitchen. My pulse spikes when I spot the stack of mail I usually retrieve. Other than being transported, it looks completely untouched, stacked in a tidy bundle. I flip through the envelopes quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when I don’t see it. She’ll still find out from me instead of VISA.

I head down the hallway to our bedroom, ignoring the churning in my stomach. I just want this tall to be over with.

As soon as I step through the door my eyes fixate on the open suitcase sitting atop our bed. There are clothes already in it and I hear sniffles and quiet rustling coming from the closet. I walk over to it and freeze. Next to the suitcase lays a tri-folded credit card statement. With a _lot_ of charges on it.

 

I pick it up. The paper’s edges flutter back and forth in my trembling hands. There are four transactions on here for the District 12 Lounge; one more than I made myself.

 

“You.” The word comes out almost demonic and my eyes snap from the paper to Madge’s face; red, swollen and enraged. The statement falls back to the bed as I turn to approach her cautiously. She looks like she wants nothing more than to kill me right now. I feel like I’ve been fast-forwarded to the inevitable fight, which could have been avoided had I told her sooner. Or in retrospect, had I not paid for Katniss’s time.

 

“It’s not what you think, Madge, if you would let me explain-” I duck as one high-heeled shoe and then another sail past my head, landing with hard thunks on the wall behind me.

 

“Explain that you’ve been using a fucking prostitute?!” A few things that tip me off as to how angry she is? Madge _never_ uses the F word. And I’ve never heard her voice at this pitch before. It could shatter glass. “How on _Earth_ could you explain this any other way than you’ve been cheating on me?” Her fists are clenched at her sides like she’s holding herself back from pummelling me, and her teeth are locked down as she speaks.

 

“It’s a mistake! I swear! I wouldn’t do that, Madge, you have to believe me.”

 

She marches over to me and snatches the statement from the bed, ramming it into my chest. “So these are, what, mistakes?” Her eyes don’t blink once as she waits for me to answer.

 

“Well, yes and… no.”

 

“Yes and no? What the fuck does that even mean!”  
  


That's twice now. “I didn’t sleep with her, Madge, honest to God.”

 

“ _Her?_ ” Madge’s hands settle heavily on her hips as she levels me with an even more incredulous glare, if that’s possible. At this rate her sky-blue eyes are going to pop out of her head “You saw the same girl four times?”

 

“No. I saw the same girl three times,” I say honestly and she growls at me. I don’t think much about the extra charge. “But only because I was trying to help her!”

 

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Peeta? Help her? You really think I’m going to believe that you were trying to _help_ her? Was the fucking zipper on her neglige so bad that you needed to pay to help her FOUR TIMES?” Her voice rises with each word until she’s shouting, our noses just inches apart. “Four times, Peeta! I was gone for seven days! _We_ don’t even have sex that much in a month!”

 

Her chest is heaving in anger and mine matches it in fear.

 

“I don’t even know you, Peeta,” she hisses, looking at me with withering disdain. “And to think I felt guilty about _kissing_ another man in Mexico.” She throws her hands up and backs away. “And you were back here fucking a whore!”

 

I completely miss tallying the sixth F word she's used because she just dropped a bomb on me - and not of the _fucking_ variety. “Wait - you kissed someone else?” Now that it’s out of my mouth, it doesn’t seem so smart considering what the topic is, but it’s the only thing that doesn’t make sense right now. I know what I did and didn’t do with Katniss. My intentions were honorable even if they don’t look it. I pushed Katniss away when she offered herself to me, but my fiance didn’t push away another man’s advances?

 

“Really, Peeta? That’s what you focus on? Not the fact that you’ve run up thousands of dollars on your credit card for sex!” Madge isn’t ready to talk about it. Fine. We’ll deal with my problem first. She turns to walk away but this is far from over.

 

“Listen to me-”

 

She whirls around, pointing her finger at me. “No! You don’t get to-”

 

“Listen. To. ME!” I yell the last word because there is more going on there than my misguided attempts to help a young girl.

 

Madge is silent, staring at me as if she’s never seen me before. I’ve never raised my voice to her. Or anyone. My mother used to do that constantly. I don’t think I ever heard her natural voice when she was alive.

 

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath, sit down on the edge of the bed and let my arms fall to my knees. “Four years ago I saw a girl. Outside the bakery. She was leaning against a tree, starving. I wanted to do something, but… my mother.”

 

She narrows her eyes much the way Finnick did earlier. “I swear to God, Peeta, if you start telling me you seeing a whore has something to do with the way your mother treated you-”

 

“Stop right there, Madge. She’s not a whore,” I say. I can’t _not_ defend Katniss against that word anymore. She’s decent and good and, as far as I know, pure. “She’s a girl that’s fallen on a difficult time and has had to resort to despicable means to take care of her sick mother and little sister.”

 

Madge purses her lips as if she wants to dispute it. But she’s lived in this town as long as I have. She’s seen what it does to people. The _opportunities_ available to make quick money. Katniss’s isn’t the only story like this. She’s one of thousands over the years. She also just happens to be the story that landed on my back doorstep.

 

“I’m ashamed I cared more about keeping the peace in that moment than about the safety of someone else. I’m ashamed _every. Fucking. Day_. that my mother turned a blind eye to the homeless, even a young girl, and looked down her straight nose at those less fortunate than herself. And that it influenced my behavior that day. I didn’t help Katniss because some stuck up, old bitty didn’t approve and would have made my life miserable. But how miserable is Katniss now? Having to sell herself to men who want nothing from her but the use of her…” I can’t say the words. It makes me physically ill to think about her that way. She may look the part - barely - but in only three visits I know that’s not who she is. I’ve never been more assured that one can never judge a book by it’s cover, no matter how lacey or olive-skinned it is. Covers are designed to divert the attention from the secrets and the pain that lies inside.

 

Madge is still staring at me, arms crossed, though more loosely now than they were. Her defenses are slipping somewhat.

 

“When I went to the bachelor party, I was approached by a guy, and he shoved a card in my face with a girl’s picture on it. _Her_ picture. Her face was burned into my memory all those years ago, Madge. I can’t forget. It’s like the Universe wants me to constantly remember that moment of weakness so I can right a wrong. And this was my chance. So without thought for you and what it would look like, I took it.”

 

I stand from the bed and take a step forward. She doesn’t move or flinch, and in her eyes I can see she wants to believe me, but doubt lingers. As it should.

 

“I never meant to hurt you or lose your trust. And I swear on my own soul that I didn’t lay a hand on her. Not once. I can’t say I’m sorry I tried to help her, but I am sorry for hurting you. And for not telling you as soon as you got home.”

 

She takes a deep, calming breath and her eyes shift away, arms falling to her sides. She chews her lip as her fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt. She’s trying to decide what she’s going to do - forgive me or keep her distance. But there’s something else we have to clear up before there can be any reconciliation.  

 

“Now that you know everything that happened when you were gone, we need to talk about _your_ trip.” Strangely, I’m not crippled that she allowed some strange guy to put his lips on hers. Lips that should have been reserved for only me. But I need to know _why_ she did it.

 

She hugs herself and the blue eyes that look so much like my own are staring back at me with the same guilt I felt moments ago. A guilt that seems to have been partially relieved with my confession. But we aren't out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot.

 

“I'm sorry, I… don't know what happened. One minute I was having a nice conversation, and the next he was kissing me.”

 

“Did you kiss him back?” She nods. “Why?”

 

Her shoulders raise in a shrug. “I guess there was something that just… I don't know?” She looks genuinely confused. “We hit it off conversationally. It was like he wanted me to know everything about him and he wanted to know all about me too. And he was always attentive to me when he took our group on tours. At first I thought he was just being nice, but looking back, and after the kiss, I guess I was being a bit naive. And then it just… _happened,_ and I couldn't take it back.”

 

I nod my head stiffly, my lips pursed in thought. I wonder what Finnick would say now. “I think we should postpone the wedding.”

 

Madge's eyes widen, then her face falls. She's seconds away from tears. I reach for her and she comes willingly, slipping her arms around my waist. Mine wrap around her shoulders and hug her to me tightly. She cries into my chest and I let her, rubbing up and down her back to try and comfort her. She sniffles a few times and finally steps back. My hands hold on to her arms and I dip down to look her in the eyes because she won't raise hers to mine. “Just until we get this sorted out, alright? It stressful enough as it is, and with all this between us I think it’d be a good idea.”

 

She nods, but I can see she's unconvinced, and in all honesty, so am I.

 

I leave Madge at the house and head up to the bakery. I know I probably should stay, but we’ve said everything we need to for now. We both need time to cool off and process, and nothing helps me think like being in a kitchen, kneading dough, shaping pretzels or mixing up icing, smelling the sweet scent of yeast and sugar baking together.

 

On the way, my phone beeps. I have a voicemail notification from the strange number that called earlier. I pull it up to listen, anxious for something to take my mind off the part of my life that’s spiraling out of control.

 

_“Peeta?”_

 

I suck in a sharp breath. It’s Katniss. I know it before she says her name.

 

_“It’s Katniss. Look, you have to stop. Stop interfering in my life. Nothing good can come of it. All you’re doing is prolonging the inevitable. You’re going to end up spending all your money on me, and for what? So I can be your project? So you can be my superhero? Do you know how humiliating it is that you don’t even show up anymore? Just stop.”_

 

I hear her draw in a deep breath, and realize I’m holding mine as well. She begins speaking again, softer now, so I send my questions about what she’s just said to the back of my mind and focus on her voice. That smoky, raspy tone that stirs things inside me. Things an engaged man probably shouldn’t be feeling.  

 

_“I really appreciate what you’ve done, but how many more times can you spend money buying me and not using my services? It’s clear you don’t want to be with me, so I think we need a clean break. I’m going to tell Gale not to accept your payments anymore. Seven times is too much. It’s more than too much, actually. Goodbye, Peeta.”_

 

I replay the message several times for many reasons. First, her voice. Second, I feel connected to her again. The soft quality of her goodbye doesn’t convince me she actually means it. That if we saw each other on the street she would say hello. Maybe even ask how I’ve been doing.

 

But third, and most confusing, is she thinks I’ve paid for her seven times.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, love to know what you're thinking! There's a bit of a mystery afoot! Do you think you know what's up? Talk to me and thanks for reading! Pbg

**Author's Note:**

> This was my PiP story that didn't make it because of moving and life in general. Moving takes longer than a week. I didn't really know that. My house is still not finished because we dove right into social gatherings, school outings, after school activities and hobbies and good LORD I need a break already! We had a huge storm last night and the power went out in my daughter's school, so they canceled and I was like, hallelujah I don't have to get out of bed!! (They informed us at 6 am via text AND annoying early phone call) Who does that?? I was mad at first, but I got over it. Anyway, I hope this is alright. Someone pointed out on tumblr that they don't see Peeta doing this kind of thing, but hopefully I've written it in a way that shows the genuine compassion of his character. That's why I love writing him! What would Peeta do? Lol. He's not perfect, but he's perfectly Peeta. Talk to me! Thank you to Colleen, who read and assured me she liked it, plus gave me some stuff to think about, and the work of changing my entire outline. I forgive you. :) Pbg


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